"What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. “You’ll be there, right?” She asked, hearing his breathing audibly jump. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle.
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