The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. He did not stagger in the least.
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