“What would you like to hear? Some J. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. Imperceptibly almost Ann Veronica began to acquire the new attitude, even while her mind still resisted the felted ideas that went with it. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled.
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