He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. “This has almost killed your father.
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