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“Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. And since then, he has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master's throat on the slightest inkling of treachery.
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