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outburst of savagery.
Then the grip of Mr. Polly's fingers gave, and he hit his chin against
the stones and slipped clumsily to the ground again, scraping his
cheek against the wall and hurting his shin against the log by which
he had reached the top. Just for a moment he crouched against the
wall.
He swore, staggered to the pile of logs and sat down.
He remained very still for some time, with his lips pressed together.
"Fool," he said at last; "you Blithering Fool!" and began to rub his
shin as though he had just discovered its bruises.
Afterwards he found his face was wet with blood--which was none the
less red stuff from the heart because it came from slight
abrasions.
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