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"You have been half-starved in that brig," said Captain Acton, searching his daughter's face, and running his eyes over her dress. Billy eyed him appraisingly. He did look like a tough proposition, no doubt about that. His face was round, flat, small-featured. "That face'll stand a lot of pummelin'," Billy told himself, and as he noted the heavy chin, thrust antagonistically forward, "no use bruisin' my knuckles on that," he decided. "Pray step in, Mr Greyquill, and be seated!".
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Conrad
"No," supported Landon, "weather's too warm, you see, Chick. I'll start in on dressin' 'em right now," he chuckled, exchanging winks with Billy. He was as good as his word. Wilson was just finishing the morning's milking, when the deacon returned. "No other offers, Tom," he said. "Looks as though they were after this particular strip of territory. Anyhow it's agreed that none of us will sell or rent without consultin' the others, so I guess we can wait on Hinter's game all right." "Oh," said Mr Lawrence, waking up, "here is a packet left by Miss Acton for you for your feet." He handed him the sulphur. "What dye you want, boy?" Shipley's pipe was alight now and he peered down at Billy through the pungent smoke-wreaths..
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