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What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said.
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