A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. He patted the hand on his sleeve. "Lean on me," said Jack. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water.
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