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They are their mother’s sons. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. " Jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his follower. ‘You’re as mad as she is, Gerald. —'It's all up with us,' says he; 'they've taken away our charter. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray.
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