She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m hanged if I see what your game is. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield. His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s. " "You are offering your hand to me?" "Without reservations. " "Enough," returned Jackson, extending his hand; "and if I've expressed myself warmly, I'm sorry for it likewise. Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy.
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