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Story No. 35
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Arnold drew a deep breath before picking up the truncheon, he'd lost count of how many times he'd
taken it like a man, and how many times he'd taken it like a stoat.
The stout in question was strange in one respect.
I recall now, in that summer of 1882, I was no more a man than you are not a woman now, and proud as proud can be,
but cried 'Rod Hull could never do this!'
Emu however was capable of far, far worse.
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