Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. "Jack," said the other, sternly; "don't provoke me further, or I'll give you a thrashing. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. “Okay. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow.
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