Mr. "The plot's out!" cried Jack. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. "You lie!" Head down, fists doubled, Spurlock rushed: only to be met with a kick which was intended for the groin but which struck the thigh instead. It is positively hateful to think of it. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk.
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