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"You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. " "You know best," replied Jonathan, sneeringly; "but if I were in your place I would take the chance of a future and uncertain risk to avoid a present and certain peril. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. " "Oh, no!" Ruth protested. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird.
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