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“I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" he cried, shouting after the Irishman, who took to his heels as soon as he found his murderous attempt unsuccessful; "you may run, but you'll not get out of my reach. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile.
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