Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. “I am going to ask for your forgiveness. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually.
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