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He screamed, and struck wildly at the cold cruel marble, and found it was soft, yielding netting after all. But it was a worse horror to find that he had thought it marble than if he had found it to be marble. He sprang from his cot. "I am going mad," he cried. "Goin'?... Gorn, more like," observed the disrobing room-corporal. "Why donchew keep orf the booze, Maffewson? You silly gapin' goat.
When would they give the word for him to spring upon it and batter it lifeless to the ground? "You're awastin' henergy all the time." "God! if they don't give the word in a minute I shall be unable to hold off It," replied Dam wildly. "That's the sperrit, Cocky," approved Hawker, "but donchew fergit you gotter larst fifteen bloomin' rahnds. 'Taint no kindergarters.
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