It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. “We were afraid that you had deserted us for good, Mr. . His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. "What do you want fot that coat, friend?" asked Jack, as he came up. Are these folks your current foster parents?” “Yes. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. My address is 94, Pall Mall. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
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