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impersonal thing.
He was aware that time--seconds or minutes--had passed, abstract,
uneventful time. He was lying with his head in a heap of ashes, and
something wet and warm ran swiftly into his neck. The first shock broke
up into discrete sensations. All his head throbbed; his eye and his chin
throbbed exceedingly, and the taste of blood was in his mouth.
"
"
He's all right," said a voice. "He's opening his eyes."
Serve him----well right," said a second.
His mates were standing about him. He made an effort and sat up. He put
his hand to the back of his head, and his hair was wet and full of
cinders. A laugh greeted the gesture. His eye was partially closed. He
perceived what had happened. His momentary anticipation of a final
victory had vanished.
"
"
Looks surprised," said some one.
'Ave any more?" said a wit; and then, imitating Denton's refined
accent.
"No, thank you."
Denton perceived the swart man with a blood-stained handkerchief before
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