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A rabble of dusky shapes headed by a torch-bearer who had doubtless lighted his fat-stick at the burning temple, pressed forward to force a way through the window. "Get off of the flower-bed," said Ludlow, dropping the muzzle of his gun on the sill. "You're tramping down my wife's flowers." "It's your nosegays of Mormons we're after having, Ludlow. We seen them shlipping in here!"
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