The Frenchman was already being followed. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. "Coward!" cried Kneebone. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely.
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