She chose to hold her nose. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. . " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. ” She relented. Through that she had to go.
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