9. “Oh, Lucy. Stanley professed a great solicitude to warm his hands. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. C.
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