He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. His face was white. A few more minutes, and she was safe. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. But it is not your name. A cry was then raised by the leaders to attack Wild's house, and the fury of the mob was instantly directed to that quarter. No mercenary consideration influences me. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts.
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