I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. CHAPTER XIII. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. I took the money myself, and ought to know. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. In worldly matters Gay was not fortunate.
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