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Overcome by fatigue, he had nodded, drowsed, and finally slumbered. The sun hung low in the western mists when Throckmorton awoke. He glanced at his wristwatch and sprang to his feet with an oath. Regardless of peril, he turned and sprinted toward his trench. His was not a nature to count the risk when duty, however delayed, called.
"And what has become of Alix the Third?" inquired the young man, squinting at his wristwatch and making out in the semi-darkness that it was nearly half-past nine. He had listened somewhat indulgently to the story of the three Alixes.
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