Turning now, and running down the terrace. And catching hold of Thames, he quitted the deck. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. That is my way, my dear. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern.
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