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His face was white, and down it sweat was pouring, drawn from the agony of his base soul. He went to the place where Dr. Slavens knelt beside Boyle. "Cra-zy Christmas!" gasped he, his mouth falling open. Then again: "Cra-zy Christmas!" Slavens had gone to Boyle first, because there was something in the utter collapse of Shanklin which told him the man was dead.
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