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"You are a perfect heathen. There's nothing to be afraid of, except that Mr. Morgeson may walk into a ditch; will a knife keep us out of that?" "Knife is good it kills," he said, showing his white, vegetable-ivory teeth. Verry and I sat up till they returned, at two in the morning. Abram had died about midnight, distressed to the last with worldly cares.
But luckily, just as they were pushing off, a very large, black head appeared from behind a vegetable-ivory tree, less than a quarter of a mile away, and they knew that this belonged to Bandeliah, the revered king of the Crumbos, who had evidently smelled rum far inland.
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