"What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head. . Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.
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