He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. "Come on, my lads!" vociferated Blueskin, "we'll unkennel the old fox. There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil.
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