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I surrender, he said, with amiable ease.

Rills of perspiration tickled my back like flies. "Can't one man do the work?"

"Why, I can read my safety in your face. You can't read anything in mine; you're afraid to look."

He waited on the threshold with his dropsical back to me for my last word, and then, still in the same attitude, droned, "O-oh, he's dead. And anyhow," he finished out of sight in the hall, "that's not our way."

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