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” “Who will?” “The police! The families of the people I’ve killed! I’m guilty!” “How old do I have to be?” “I beg your pardon?” “To be of use to you. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest.
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