He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. Blood, they say, won't come out.
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