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Arms wound about him: a stertorous breathing was at his ear: for a moment the two rocked, then fell. The boy was buried alive. A stifling carcase blotted out the sun. His arms were pinioned, but his hands remained free. Short-handling his dirk, he turned it in. "Assassin!" muttered the man, in his ear. Kit pressed and slowly pressed. The man writhed and tried to rise.
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