. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. "What was it?" He was insistent. "You are all right?"—anxiously. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock.
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