" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. " And he raised it in his arms. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. I don’t care. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot.
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