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I rose on an elbow, but could hear no new sound except the soft rustle of Ulus's wet clothes. He was moving too. There was a pause. Presently he whispered "Bjorn," and I saw in the stove's faint glow the butt of the Martini steal across to me. You can lay your life to it I was awake enough then. What sportsman in Norway would not tingle with delight at the chance of getting a bear?
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