Gerald lost his head. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly.
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