“You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. “Lady Mackinnor,” she said, “I am sure that you must have heard of Mr. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. I’ve no name for it yet. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. “But a boy—a boy goes out into the world and presently stands on his own feet. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand.
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