Sir John stood upon the threshold. . “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. ’ ‘Woof!’ Sergeant Trodger’s eyes fairly popped out of his head, and he seized his prisoner’s arm again. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.
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