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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


The light being dim, Ravenslee drew closer to the lamp, and standing
thus against the light, his face was in shadow--also his long figure
was silhouetted upon the opposite wall, plain to be seen by any one
opening the door. Suddenly, as he stood with head bent above the paper,
this door opened suddenly, and M'Ginnis entered; he also held a paper,
and now he spoke without troubling to lift his scowling gaze from the
printed column he was scanning:
"That you, Lefty? Here's a hell of a mix-up--that dog-gone fool Heine's
got himself pinched--and in Jersey City too! I told him t' stay around
here till things was quiet! It's goin' t' be a hell of a job t' fix
things for him over there--'t ain't like N' York. But we got t' fix
things for him or chance him squealing on th' rest of us, but what beats
me is--"
M'Ginnis's teeth clicked together, and the paper tore suddenly between
his hands as, glancing up at last, he beheld two keen, grey eyes that
watched him and a mouth, grim and close-lipped, that curled in the smile
Spider didn't like.


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