"A drunken idea," said Ah Cum, taking his hands out of his sleeves. He had deliberately saved it for last. The room in which he was detained—that lately occupied by the Mohocks, who, it appeared, had been allowed to depart,—was calculated to inspire additional apprehension and disgust. “I killed him. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. And yet, dang it! I've seen 'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers. ‘A word, if you please, my friend. .
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