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"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. Sheppard. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man.
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