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In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. " "Don't scold him, father," interposed Thames; "he's been frightened enough already. Earles said, “but this is rubbish. “You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. You have all the earmarks of a fugitive from justice. , and munched a roll and butter with hearty appetite.
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