Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world—Zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. ” “Point taken. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”.
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