Your life is like a funeral March. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. Striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground.
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