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Wire-tapper, racing-tout, stool-pigeon, a cheater at cards, blackmailer and trafficker in baser things; in the next room, and he had let him go unharmed. Vermin. Pah! He was glad. The very touch of the man's collar had left a sense of defilement upon his hands. Ten years ago and thirteen thousand miles away. In the next room. He laughed unpleasantly.
"Every car-driver, stage-driver, hackman, and racing-tout can become major-generals if they yell loud enough." Burgess continued ironing, then stole a glance at his master. "Are you thinking of enlisting, sir?" "No; I can't pass the examination for lung power. By the way," he added, laughing, "I overlooked the impudence of your question, too. But now is your time, Burgess.
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