"For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained. Steps to aid the descent, which was too steep to be safe without them, led to, a door on the opposite side. I—well, I lost my temper. Meysey Hill—never your wife.
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