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Anybody in pain had only to call to him. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. 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. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. If you want me, you know where to find me. You come with those clear eyes of yours, as valiant as an angel. . Capes. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live.
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