" "What motive can you have for so vile a deed?" asked Mrs. She never forced the issue, it was their father’s job. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. 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. “Then—then we can talk things out.
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