So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. “A sex of blacklegging clients. By the by, my dear, I forgot to ask your name—perhaps you'll oblige me with it now? Hell and the devil!—gone!" He looked around in vain. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. .
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