Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles.
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