’ ‘What sort of “down on your luck”?’ asked Alderley. 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. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. You must live for me. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald.
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