She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault. Your aunt liked the pheasant. As they kissed goodbye, she hoped that he felt the same reluctance to part. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. "But I soon shall be," returned Jack; "take these," he added, flinging the handcuffs against the wooden partition, "and wear 'em yourself.
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