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Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. The inn was a military haunt. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. He had attained the residence by his political ascension to the Duke of Herculis. You don’t know. Wood started to his feet. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled.
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