His face was downcast. Jackson’s. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. In a moment they were in the street outside. " "Mr. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold.
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