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" "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. But did you ever hear of a djinn in a blue-serge coat? Stitched in!" Something like this was always rushing into his throat; and he had to sink his nails into his palms to stop his mouth.
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