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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


For a long, tense moment they stood motionless, eye to eye, then,
reaching behind him, M'Ginnis locked the door, and drawing out the key,
thrust it into his pocket.
"So--I got ye at last--have I?" said he slowly.
"And I've got you," said Ravenslee pleasantly; "we seem to have got each
other, don't we?"
"See here, you," said M'Ginnis, his massive shoulders squared, his big
chin viciously outthrust, "you're goin' t' leave Mulligan's, see?"
"Am I?" said Ravenslee, lounging upon a corner of the battered desk.
"You sure are," nodded M'Ginnis. "Hell's Kitchen ain't big enough for
you an' me, I guess; you're goin' because I say so, an' you're goin'
t'night!"
"You surprise me!" said Ravenslee sleepily.
"You're goin' t' quit Hell's Kitchen for good and--you ain't comin'
back!"
"You amaze me!" and Ravenslee yawned behind his hand.
"An' now you're goin' t' listen why an' wherefore--if you can keep
awake a minute!"
"I'll try, Mr. Flowers, I'll try."
M'Ginnis thrust clenched hands into his pockets and surveyed Ravenslee
with scornful eyes--his lounging figure and stooping shoulders, his
long, white hands and general listless air.


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