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Ye're afraid iv Rothscheeld, an' th' Impror iv Germany, an' th' Dook d'Orleans, Vik Bonaparte, an' Joe Chamberlain, an' Bill McKinley. Be hivins, I believe ye're even afraid iv Gin'ral Otis! Ye're afraid iv th' newspapers, ye're afraid iv Jools Guerin, ye're afraid iv a pote, even whin he is not ar-rmed with his pothry, an' ye're afraid iv each other. Brace up! be men!

"Cap Dhryfuss was settin' on th' window-sill, whistlin' 'Garry Owen, an' makin' faces at th' gallant corryspondint iv th' Daily Wrongs iv Man. At this point he cried out laughingly: 'I will not conthradict th' gin'ral. I will say he lies. "'Let me ask this canal iv a Jew a question, says th' corryspondint iv th' evening Rothscheeld Roaster, a Fr-rinchman be th' name iv Sol Levi.

Some say she is a Dhryfussard in th' imploy iv Rothscheeld; others, that she is an agent iv th' Anti-Semites. No wan has learned her name. She says she is Madame Lucille Gazahs, iv wan hundherd an' eight Rue le Bombon, an' is a fav'rite iv th' Fr-rinch stage. She is wan iv th' great mysthries iv this ree-markable thrile. "Afther th' coort had kissed th' witnesses, th' proceedin's opined.

We will not, he says, 'lave this house till we have driven ivry cur-rsed Cosmypollitan or Jew, he says, 'fr'm this noble land iv th' br-rave an' home iv th' flea, he says. 'Veev Fr-rance! he says. 'Veev Jools Guerin! he says. 'Conspuez Rothscheeld! he says. 'It's ye'er move, Loot, he says to th' polisman.