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" "Enough," returned Jackson, extending his hand; "and if I've expressed myself warmly, I'm sorry for it likewise. When she awoke from a pleasant dream an hour later, she was shocked to find herself restrained in a bed that was not hers and not the inn’s. Don’t imagine that. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. "No," replied Jonathan, with a brutal laugh. She rode him gently. Death belongs to God, young man. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot.
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