“Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. It was partly to pay a grudge he had against father. “Upon my word,” he exclaimed, “this is most extraordinary.
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