"This your regular business?" "For the present. Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate. He resented being regarded as irregular. ‘Murder is serious business, Gianfrancesco. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen.
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