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She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. He raised her to a sitting position. I’m very resourceful, you know. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. She continued to fan herself.
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