Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. “No! No no no no no no no!” She ran towards them, her arms outstretched, but he blocked her. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence.
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