. . But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. “I’ll get a towel. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it.
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