" "Tush!" cried Thames; "you accused me to skreen yourself. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. Mr. Produce them!" "Never!" replied Kneebone. " "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it.
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