He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. So the talk went on. "Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box.
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