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fact remained, the figure went slinking--slinking was the only word
for it--and would not go otherwise than slinking. He turned his eyes
westward as if for an explanation, and if the figure was no longer
ignoble, the prospect was appalling.
"
One kick in the stummick would settle a chap like me," said Mr.
Polly.
"
Oh, God!" cried Mr. Polly, and lifted his eyes to heaven, and said
for the last time in that struggle, "It isn't my affair!"
And so saying he turned his face towards the Potwell Inn.
He went back neither halting nor hastening in his pace after this last
decision, but with a mind feverishly busy.
"If I get killed, I get killed, and if he gets killed I get hung.
Don't seem just somehow.
"
Don't suppose I shall frighten him off."
VIII
The private war between Mr. Polly and Uncle Jim for the possession of
the Potwell Inn fell naturally into three chief campaigns. There was
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