There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. “You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second. “Yes. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom. "Devil!" cried Jack; "that blow shall cost you your life.
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