"My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter. " "Give them to me," replied Jack. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. En tout cas, Gérard will very likely kill you before the hangman has the chance.
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