The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing.
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