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8 or 1. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. " "Willingly.
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