While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces. " "Where did he get it?" inquired Wood, in surprise. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head. He became a little more personal and intimate.
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