"No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. I shall have to discover one suitable. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. I'll cable to-night, and in a few days we'll have some news. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally.
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