"By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. The thought had not even occurred to him. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. That place was closed by the police last month. They even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from the carriage.
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