“I should kill you. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. I do not blame you for the act. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. "Yes; I speak English.
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