“Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. . '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. This double buffetting had sharpened her shrewdness and insight.
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