"See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. "You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. To make sure work of it, I'll superintend the job myself. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere.
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