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“Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Few men could have done as much. Kneebone, or, as he would have preferred being styled, Captain Kneebone, was not perfectly satisfied with the recommendations forwarded by the applicants. He hated himself a little for it. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town.
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