Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. Wood's famous 'prentice?" "What apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. As to this little fellow, in spite of the Dutchman, who, in my opinion, is more of a Jacobite than a conjurer, and more of a knave than either, he shall never mount a horse foaled by an acorn, if I can help it. A young man was playing the banjo. Wood in the deepest mourning. . A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. " "Death and fiends!" exclaimed Jack; "the old thief is there. There was a man, a boy, and a woman. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. The gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for safety i' that pris'n.
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