“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. “I’m only arguing against your position of what a woman should be, and trying to get it clear in my own mind. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head.
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