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” “Fame!” “Isn’t it? ‘I’ve not seen your play, Mr. "Fold it … under the pillow. " "I mean to say, Sir," answered Mrs. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “You do not even know what you are talking about.
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