Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. There were two of them. ‘Ah, trying to be the young hero, I take it, which is why he near got hisself killed. " So saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against the throat of the woollen-draper. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites.
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