A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. “You certainly got him in the bag. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. If I might take the liberty, Sir John,” he added, with a humorous gleam in his eyes, “I should like to congratulate you upon your tie. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles.
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