Jack Kimble. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. " "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him.
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