Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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