The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. They are very good people, you know. This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. "Don't fire," cried the latter.
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