And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Unusual. . It was so difficult to put precisely. Sir John once more looked around him. 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. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully.
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