[Trumps by George William Curtis]@TWC D-Link book
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CHAPTER LXXIV
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His brow wrinkled and his head bent forward more deeply, while his eyes were set straight before him.

Tick, tick--tick, tick.

The solemn beat became human as he listened.

He could not raise his head--he could not turn his eyes.

He felt as if some awful shape stood over him with destroying eyes and inflexible tongue.


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