He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. “Listen to me.
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