She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “But the thing is, I want a job. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. ’ ‘Dear me. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. “I wonder if I’ve been properly brought up. You know—if you want freedom.
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