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I bent over him. Drawing his hanger he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in whom he recognised Blueskin. My nerves were in rags. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both.
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