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The door of Uncle Sylvester's room had slowly opened, and a blue pyjama'd sleeve appeared, carefully depositing the sheaf of bows and arrows outside the door. "I say, Norah, or Bridget there, some of you take those infernal things away. And look out, will you, for the arrowheads are deadly poison. The fool who got 'em didn't know they were African, and not Indian at all! And hold on!"
In another moment Spabbink was being nearly stifled and very effectually gagged by a pillow-case tightly bound round his head, while his plump pyjama'd limbs were hauled out of bed and smacked, pinched, kicked, and bumped in a catch-as-catch-can progress across the floor, towards the flat shallow bath in whose utterly inadequate depths Groby perseveringly strove to drown him.
"Nor I. There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow. You're in luck; they've made an arrest. It's in the paper." "What?" The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and stood clutching at the bedrail. "What?" The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool. He takes it queerly; what now? Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed.
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