His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. The girl nodded sagely. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. You understand me, Charcoal. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing.
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