“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. I did not even know where to write and thank you. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe.
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