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A bloomin', stinkin', first-class imposyshun but it don't tyke me in. Not it." Jimmy kept still. Donkin put his hands in his pockets, and in one slouching stride came up to the bunk. "I talk what's the odds. They ain't men 'ere sheep they are. A driven lot of sheep. I 'old you up... Vy not? You're well orf." "I am... I don't say anything about that...." "Well. Let 'em see it.
Chatter out all you know like... like a dirty white cockatoo." Donkin waited. He could hear the other's breathing, long and slow; the breathing of a man with a hundredweight or so on the breastbone. Then he asked calmly: "What do I know?" "What?... What I tell you... not much. What do you want... to talk about my health so..." "It's a blooming imposyshun.
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