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In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. " ***** "To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside his helmet. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724. CHAPTER V.
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