" "All right. I can be that man, the one I know you want. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. " The young man thanked his informant, and was about to follow his instructions, when the other called after him—— "I say, master, did you ever hear tell of Mr. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling.
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