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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


The Spider drew back, staring from Ravenslee's tall, alert figure to his
bruised knuckles and back again, while his companions stood by in mute
and wide-eyed wonder.
"Spider," said Ravenslee, shaking his head in grave reproof, "you were
rather slow that time--very foolish to leave your point uncovered and
offer me your jaw like that, you know!"
Five pairs of eyes stared at the speaker with a new and suddenly
awakened interest, and beholding in him that lithe assurance of poise,
that indefinable air that bespeaks the trained pugilist and which cannot
be mistaken, elbows were nudged, and heads wagged knowingly.
Ravenslee's grey eyes were shining, and his pale cheeks tinged with
colour.
"Ah, Spider," said he, "life is rather worth while after all, isn't it?
Spider, I like you better and better; come, don't be a surly Spider,
shake hands!"
"T' hell wid youse!" growled the Spider, covering up again, and, though
his face was sulky yet was no trace of contempt there now.
"I suppose," mused Ravenslee, looking him over with knowledgeful eye,
"yes, I judge, as you are now, you would fight about seven or eight
pounds over your ringside weight.


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