‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack. If he was asleep, then she much regretted that she must wake him up. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. Gosse sagged under the impact, knocking over the card table, and falling to sit, half stunned, the discharged pistol flying from his slackened grasp.
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