As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. ’ Jack gasped. Totally disregarding the pain, he picked up the nail, and reserved it for future use. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible.
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