I understand. You're welcome to it. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. 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. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes.
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