But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. Muffling up his face, Jack turned away; but he had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud an account of his escapes from a newspaper. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. See, it is on my cards—M. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands.
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