"On that night,—in this room,—in your presence, Blueskin,— in yours Mr. Irreton. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. None this end. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head. Jonathan's wicked threat is fulfilled at last.
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