It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. Jack had thus been six hours in accomplishing his arduous task. But I waited in vain.
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