It’s not you—not a bit. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. " "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. Panting with effort, she held her point menacingly at Gosse’s chest. Meanwhile, the excitement of the chase had in some degree subsided. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. I think he got sick of us and he disappeared not one week later. I do not wish to return to Paris.
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