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Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. Drummond nodded. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle.
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