It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. O'Higgins, the American detective, and were waiting against the hour when they could assist the young man in a sudden dash for liberty. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind.
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