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“The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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