"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. "Curse you! Where are the bailiffs? Rot you! have you lost your tongue? Devil seize you! you could bawl loud enough a moment ago!" "Silence, Blueskin!" interposed an authoritative voice, immediately behind the ruffian. I mean to have you! Don’t frown me off now. I think that nearly every manager in London has made me an offer. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea.
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