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Not once during the ceremony did the two look at each other, but riveted their gaze upon the lips of the man who was forging the bands: gazed intensively, as if they feared the world might vanish before the last word of the ceremony was spoken. Wood, in a taunting tone. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack. "They tell me over here that the average Chinaman is honest. I—I hurt myself.
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