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Then, passing his hand over his marble brow, the old look of stern fixedness of purpose and unflinching severity would straighten the lines of his mouth, and he would mutter, half to himself, "S'death!" "Come with me to Heavystone Grange. The Exmoor Hounds throw off to-morrow. I'll give you a mount," he said, as he amused himself by rolling up a silver candlestick between his fingers.
I say alone, for the pile of small boys on the floor in the corner could hardly be called company. I will try and sketch him for the reader. Guy Heavystone was then only fifteen. His broad, deep chest, his sinewy and quivering flank, his straight pastern, showed him to be a thoroughbred. Perhaps he was a trifle heavy in the fetlock, but he held his head haughtily erect.
I keep no animals that are not dangerous I should add DEADLY!" He hissed the last sentence between his teeth, and a gloomy frown descended over his calm brow. I affected to turn over the tradesman's bills that lay on the table, for, like all of the Heavystone race, Guy seldom paid cash, and said: "You remind me of the time when Leonidas " "O, bother Leonidas and your classical allusions. Come!"
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