She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover.
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