Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp. It was time to leave America. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet.
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