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me," he said, with a total absence of truculence. Denton realised that
no assault was intended. He stared, awaiting the next development.
It was evident the next sentence was premeditated.
"Whad--I--was--going--to say--was this," said the swart man, and sought
through a silence for further words.
"Whad--I--was--going--to say--was this," he repeated.
Finally he abandoned that gambit. "You're aw right," he cried, laying
a grimy hand on Denton's grimy sleeve. "You're aw right. You're a
ge'man. Sorry--very sorry. Wanted to tell you that."
Denton realised that there must exist motives beyond a mere impulse to
abominable proceedings in the man. He meditated, and swallowed an
unworthy pride.
"I did not mean to be offensive to you," he said, "in refusing that bit
of bread."
"Meant it friendly," said the swart man, recalling the scene; "but--in
front of that blarsted Whitey and his snigger--Well--I 'ad to scrap."
"Yes," said Denton with sudden fervour: "I was a fool."
"Ah!" said the swart man, with great satisfaction. "That's aw right.
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