Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. "I told you I would call to bid you farewell, Mr. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist.
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