Why, honestly enouch. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. It would be very hard perhaps to make you understand just how I feel about it. You wanted to play a lone hand.
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