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Just as Mr Reardon was stooping to attend to his fellow-prisoner, he had made a tremendous cat-like bound, driving me sidewise as he alighted on Mr Reardon's back, making at the same time a would-be deadly stroke with a small knife he had managed to keep hidden in the folds of his cotton jacket.
Then looking down at his ragged trousers and dirty jacket, he added with a grin, "'Spect some o' them nobs'll most have a fit to see me there." Nevertheless he determined to go. Old Mr.
Hendrik now thought of the blind. True, he had none. Was there nothing about him that would serve as one? His handkerchief? No, it would be too thin. Hurrah! His jacket would do! His rifle was in the way. It must be got rid of. It must be dropped to the ground, he could return for it. It was let down as gently as possible, and soon left far behind. In a twinkling Hendrik stripped off his jacket.
Consuello was in sport costume, silk knit jacket, saucy white hat, white skirt, shoes and hose; a trim, dainty figure, cool and refreshing. He had a curious feeling that their meeting was somewhat clandestine. "I thought you knew where Gibson went, but I refrained from calling you to ask," John said after they were seated in the booth. "Why didn't you?"
To distract his spiritual anguish by some new sensation or some other pain, Vassilyev, not knowing what to do, crying and shuddering, undid his greatcoat and jacket and exposed his bare chest to the wet snow and the wind. But that did not lessen his suffering either.
"I don't know much about that," said the captain; "my fellow sent me this toggery, and said that it was the sort of thing. I'll change with you if you like it." But Cheesacre could not have worn that jacket, and he walked on, hating himself.
The fore end lifts an oath is heard next second the red jacket shows in a whirl of water. Then it disappears. A movement of anxiety on the bridge the watchers on the bank spring to their feet. He is up again, swimming athwart the stream. A few powerful strokes, and he reaches the dead water close inshore. Cursing aloud, he sits down and pours the water from his boots.
You see you're a gal, and I think you're pretty," added Dick, critically; "so it 'ud be a wonder if He didn't like you." "And why shouldn't He love you, Dick?" said Tiny. Dick looked down at the patched, ragged, nondescript garments that served him as jacket and trousers, and then at his bare, sunburnt arms and legs. "Well, I'm just Dick of the Point. I ain't a gal, and I ain't pretty."
I helped the lass to her feet, put her into my jacket, jumped into the saddle, and lifted her astride behind me. "Clip me tight! Which way?" "Round the spinney first, sir!" Off we went, and this time I touched Sultan with the spur and he flew along.
Now I am going to turn you on your side, and then cut the sleeve off the jacket. Take another drink of water; then we will set about it." Dick did as he was ordered, and was evidently coming back to consciousness, for he looked round, and then said, "Where are the other fellows?" "I don't know what has become of them. I think I went down before you did. However, here we are alone.
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