"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. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. ’ Kimble nodded. I will not be persecuted in this way by you. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. "Take care of yourself, then," rejoined Thames, doubling his fists, and advancing towards him: "though my right arm's stiff, I can use it, as you'll find. Smith obeyed.
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