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Disengaging his right arm, Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the head with the bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the tenacity of despair. That’s how it takes me. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. “What a little brick!” he murmured. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted.
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