"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. "Well, what can you expect, guzzling poison like that? Are you returning with us to Hong-Kong in the morning?" "No. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door.
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