"Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. . Look at the poor victim at your feet. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. Adventure rules, and morality—looks up the trains in the Bradshaw. To-morrow I am going to Paris. Kneebone," returned Shotbolt. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps.
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