These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. “But, forgive me, you are tired. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. . The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks.
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