"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. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. I must tell somebody—and you would understand. He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said.
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