Plote was sleeping or deaf. He hated himself a little for it. The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. .
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