Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. “It may be more difficult than you think,” she said. Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. "To-morrow I will take you to him.
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