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"Look at him!" Ruth looked. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. “For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. If you can imagine it, I survived it. White would not approve of callers. 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.
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