He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. Aware of Quilt Arnold's mode of proceeding, Jack instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you.
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