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‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. "Well," growled Blueskin, "you've had my offer. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity.
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