She turned with an effort. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. " He laughed and followed her into the hotel. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. S. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother.
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