Mr. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. “I am just back from Paris. A time may come,—and that ere long,—when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions. “It isn’t quite that we’re toys. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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