"As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. I was his wife. Ramage,” she said, “please don’t talk like this. “But your hair,” he gasped. " While this order was obeyed, Figg, who had been standing near the door, made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which Jack warmly grasped.
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