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Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. Mr. ‘We?’ Gerald smiled. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. It doesn’t seem to matter. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. ‘Merci, dieu. It was a brief solitude, however.
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