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Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. If some of them are bad in the sense you mean, it is because there are bad folks in all walks of life. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. This gloom was impossible. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Walking to the station with him. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 06:29:29