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"Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. Water I need. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while.
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