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The Supper at Mr. "Very well. ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. ” Ann Veronica started from her reverie, sat up in her chair, became attentive. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. " "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. Pragmar probably knew Mr. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. " "He must," exclaimed Jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if I don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not Jack Sheppard.

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