The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. A swift frown brought the still dark brows together for a moment. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested the Britisher, in seven rounds. It was time to get up. " "Dere's de other door!" cried Mendez, in alarm.
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