He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “It isn’t objections exactly. “I don’t believe there is one. ‘Oh, peste. “Yes, I know. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. You understand what I mean.
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