Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. "Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. " "I didn't want it," replied Jack; "but who are those gentlemen?" "Friends of yours," replied Figg; "come to see you;—Sir James Thornhill, Mr.
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