" "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. She brought her face to his chest, turning her head sideways so he would not notice her elongated canines. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. To-morrow morning I shall have made up my mind what to do. Be silent, I say, if you value his safety. ’ The dagger was in her hand.
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