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"Enough!" exclaimed Wild, triumphantly. It was an impulse. He turned his back on that temptation. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. The name of his father's murderer is also known to me. "Let me go first," said Blueskin; "the dogs know me.
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