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He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features. So, after the dinner was over, Spurlock took her home; and worked far into the night. "I mean what I say," replied Jonathan.
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