His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. E. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. ‘I have no idea. Though," said the thieftaker, with a complacent smile, "all the world seems to tremble at it. CHAPTER XXXI. "Give them what you please. ‘That way. Taber did not leave all his money in the office. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault.
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