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"Mental telepathy, the affinity of souls pitched in the same whatever-you- call-it harmony," the steward mystified. "You see, Killeny an' me are made of the same kind of stuff, only run into different moulds. He might a-been my full brother, or me his, only for some mistake in the creation factory somewhere. Now I'll show you he knows his bit of arithmetic."
"Go and get twenty more policemen to wipe away the blood!" advised Ranjoor Singh, sitting back in the saddle to get a better look at him, and reining back the impatient Bagh. "I am not a constabeel; I am a soldier." "Aha! Yes. You better hurry. All your men are underneath what-you- call-it? bottom dog. You better hurry like slippery!
"Oh! as to him, why, you see, he was what we call-it isn't a polite word, I confess-a humbug." "A Baronet a humbug!" she exclaims, fretting her hands and commencing to rock herself in the chair.
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