He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. He was a comforting, humorous old ruffian; but there were few men in the Orient more deeply read in psychology and physiognomy. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. His literary instincts began to stir. In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective.
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