“Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. "Good night!" "Blueskin," whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed him, "wait without. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform.
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