" "A word," cried the boy, as the janizary was preparing to obey his master's orders. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. ‘Parbleu, do you think he will run away? He has a bullet inside him, and it must be taken out. " "Robbed him!" screamed the widow. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it.
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