He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head.
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