His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. Entranced, he stared at the name. "There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. I’m leaving you, and you can’t stop me.
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