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"Dossn't I? Ha'e much more o' thy chelp, my young jockey, an' I'll rattle my fist about thee. Ay, an' I sholl that, dost see?" Morel crouched at the knees and showed his fist in an ugly, almost beast-like fashion. William was white with rage. "Will yer?" he said, quiet and intense. "It 'ud be the last time, though." Morel danced a little nearer, crouching, drawing back his fist to strike.
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