Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. The knife is at my breast. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol.
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