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For my right leg was broken, also my right arm, and my head was stounding as if it would burst. It was late and nigh sunset or ever we won the gates of Compiegne, having lost, indeed, but thirty men slain, but having wholly failed in our onfall.
Then, how long after I could not tell, there was water on my face, the blue sky and the blue tide were spinning round they spun swiftly, then slowly, then stood still. There was a fierce pain stounding in my head, and a voice said "That good oar-stroke will learn you to steal boats!"
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