“I do. ” He started back as though he had been shot. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. " He passed it over; and Ruth read: To be opened in case of my death and the letter inside forwarded to the address thereon.
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