" Jack could stand no more. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. . McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Only a book detective could dope this out.
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