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"I declare you throw me into an ague. 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 you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. “Marriage certificates don’t tell lies, at any rate,” he said. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. He was tall, slender, and suave.
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