" "Rely on me," rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished. Jackson?" said Wood, significantly. ’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly.
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