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"This sunken road is always hairy," remarked the signal officer known to his intimates as Sigs giving the General a hand-up from his particular lair. "It were unwise to linger, sir." "Another quarter-mile and we hit Essex Trench," remarked the Brigade-Major. "Sally's head-quarters are there."
You are loyalist also. You would not disturb to the peaceful Europe? Captain, I tell you this. Your Queen she know too. She would not fight her cousins. It is a a hand-up thing." "What?" "Hand-up thing. Jobe you put. How you say?" "Put-up job?" "Yes. Put-up job. Who is hurt? We win. You lose. All righta?" Bai-Jove-Judson had been exploding at intervals for the last five minutes.
The man on the grating showed some unwillingness to lend the hand-up that was asked for; and took exception, it seemed, to the safety of the landing on any terms. "Maybe you want a dip in the river, master?" said he. "It's no concern of mine. Only I don't care to take your weight on this greasy bit of old iron. I'm best out of the water."
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