Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. It is so difficult. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. Wood. He hasn't found himself, as they say.
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