We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. Then he had gone away. That’s the fact of the matter. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. ” “I wonder,” he said, a trifle irrelevantly, “what the future has in store for you. I worship you.
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