"The devil you have!" thundered a voice from behind, that filled the apprentice with dismay. London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. Say something. And yet I know not—for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve Jack, who, if your statement is correct, which I cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance.
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