I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. It was possible that his first impressions had not been correct. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. I'm about to ring for supper.
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