She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. You love money. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly.
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