" "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. It was late before Jonathan ventured to his own house, where he remained up all night, and kept his janizaries and other assistants well armed. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. But his eyes were on the Frenchman, and as Valade moved up the other road a little way, the lad shifted alertly, and swiftly closed the distance to the intersection. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York….
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