‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled.
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