Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. "Take a drop of brandy before we start, watchman," said Wood, pouring out a glass of spirit, and presenting it to Terence, who smacked his lips as he disposed of it. He believes that he is leaving this conscience behind; and I want to watch his disillusion on this particular point. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. " Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. From suburbs, from country towns—everywhere. .
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