"I know not—and care not," replied Jack. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. " "And I'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late," observed the Master. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ enquired Gerald gently. They stopped talking, except to each other.
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