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Straight as a flung spear he flew; hurtling through the flame-fringed billows of smoke. Against the shut window he crashed, with the speed of a catapult. Against it he crashed; and clean through it, into the hell of smoke and fire and strangulation inside the shack. His head had smashed the strong cross-piece of wood and dried putty and had crumpled it like so much wet paper.
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