XLI
THE PROPHECY
Reaching the top of the jade steps, Chick found the landing to be agreat dais, nearly a hundred feet across. On the right and left thisdais was hedged in by the silver walls, on each of which was hung ahuge, golden scrollwork. These scrolls bore legends, which for themoment Chick ignored. At the rear of the dais was a large object like abronze bell.
The floor was of the usual mosaic, except in the centre, where therewas a plain, circular design. Chick took careful note of this, a circleabout twenty feet across, as white and unbroken as a bed of frozen snow.Whether it was stone or not he could not determine. All around its edgewas a gap that separated it from the dais, a gap several inches across.Chick turned to Geos:
"The Spot of Life?"
"Even so. It is the strangest thing in all the Thomahlia, my lord. Canyou feel it?"
For Watson had reached out with his toe and touched the white surface.He drew it back suddenly.
"It has a feeling," he replied, "that I cannot describe. It is cold, andyet it is not. Perhaps it is my own magnetism."
"Ah! It is well, my lord!"
What the Rhamda meant by that Chick could not tell. He was interestedin the odd white substance. It was as smooth as glass, although atintervals there were faint, almost imperceptible, dark lines, like thefinest scratches in old ivory. Yet the whiteness was not dazzling. AgainWatson touched it with his foot, and noted the inexplicable feeling ofexhilaration. In the moment of absorption he quite forgot the concourseabout him. He knew that he was now standing on the crux of the BlindSpot.
But in a minute he turned. The dais was a sort of nave, with one endopen to the stairway. Seated on his left was the frail Aradna, occupyinga small throne-like chair of some translucent green material. On theright sat the Bar Senestro, in a chair differing only in that its colourwas a bright blue. In the centre of the dais stood a third chair--acrimson one--empty.
The Senestro stood up. He was royally clad, his breast gleaming withjewels. He was certainly handsome; he had the carriage of confidentroyalty. There was no fear in this man, no uncertainty, no weakness.If confidence were a thing of strength, the Senestro was already thevictor. In his heart Chick secretly admired him.
But just then the Aradna stood up, She made an indication to Watson. Hestepped over to the queen. She sat down again.
"I want to give you my benediction, stranger lord. Are you sure ofyourself? Can you overcome the Senestro?"
"I am certain," spoke Watson. "It is for the queen, O Aradna. I knownothing of the prophecy; but I will fight for you!"
She blushed and cast a furtive look in the direction of the Senestro.
"It is well," she spoke. "The outcome will have a doubleinterpretation--the spiritual one of the prophecy, and the earthly,material one that concerns myself. If you conquer, my lord, I am freed.I would not marry the Senestro; I love him not. I would abide by theprophet, and await the chosen." She hesitated. "What do you know of thechosen, my lord?"
"Nothing, O Aradna."
"Has not the Rhamda Geos told you?"
"Partly, but not fully. There is something that he is withholding."
"Very likely. And now--will you kneel, my lord?"
Watson knelt. The queen held out her hand. Behind him Chick could heara deep murmur from the assembled multitudes. Just what was thesignificance of that sound he did not know; nor did he care. It wasenough for him that he was to fight for this delicately beautifulmaiden. He would let the prophecy take care of itself.
Besides these three on the dais there were only the Rhamda Geos andthe Jan Lucar. These two remained on the edge nearest the body of thetemple, the edge at the crest of the stair. The empty chair remained so.
Suddenly Chick remembered the warning of Dr. Holcomb: "Read the words ofthe Prophet." And he took advantage of the breathing-spell to peruse thelegends on the great golden scrolls:
THE PROPHECY OF THE JARADOS
Behold! When the day is at hand, prepare ye!
For, when that day cometh, ye shall have signs and portents from theworld beyond. Wisdom cometh out of life, and life walketh out of wisdom.Yea, in the manner of life and of spirit ye shall have them, and ofsubstance even like unto you yourselves.
And it shall come to pass in the last days, that we shall be on guard.By these signs ye shall know them; even by the truths I have taughtthee. The way of life is an open door; wisdom and virtue are its keys.And when the intelligence shall be lifted to the plane above--then shaltthou know!
Mark ye well the Spot of Life! He that openeth it is the precursor ofjudgment. Mark him well!
And thus shall the last days come to pass. See that ye are worthy, Owise ones! For behold in those last days there shall come among ye--
The chosen of a line of kings. First there shall be one, and then thereshall be two; and the two shall stay but the one shall return.
The false ones. Them ye shall slay!
The four footed: The call to humility, sacrifice and devotion, whom yeshall hold in reverence even as you hold me, the Jarados.
And on the last day of all--I, the Jarados!
Beware ye of sacrilege! Lest I take from ye all that I have given ye,and the day be postponed--beware ye of sacrilege!
And if the false ones cometh not, ye shall know that I have held them.Know ye the day!
Sixteen days from the day of the prophet, shall come the day of thejudgment; and the way shall be opened, on the last day, the sixteenthday of the Jarados.
Hearken to the words of the Jarados, the prophet and mouthpiece ofthe infinite intelligence, ruler of justice, peace, and love! So be itforever!
Chick read it a second time. Like all prophecies, it was somewhatDelphic; but he could get the general drift. In that golden script hewas looking into the heart of all Thomahlia--into its greatness, itsculture, its civilisation itself. It was the soul of the Blind Spot, thereason and the wherefore of all about him.
He heard someone step up behind him, and he turned. It was the Senestro,going over the words of the prophecy.
"Can you read it, Sir Phantom?" asked the handsome Bar. His black eyeswere twinkling with delight. "Have you read it all?"
He put a hand on Chick's shoulder. It was a careless act, almostfriendly. Either he had the heart of a devil or the chivalry of apaladin. He pointed to a line:
"'The false ones. Them ye shall slay.'"
"And if I were the false one, you would slay me?" asked Watson.
"Aye, truly!" answered the splendid prince. "You are well made andgood to look upon. I shall hold you in my arms; I shall hear your bonescrack; it shall be sweeter music than that of the temple pheasants,who never sing but for the Jarados. I shall slay you upon the Spot, SirPhantom!"
Watson turned on his heel. The ethics of the Senestro were not of hisown code. He was not afraid; he stood beside the Jan Lucar and gazed outinto the body of the temple. As far as he could see, under and past thefourteen great pillars and right up to the far wall, the floor was avast carpet of humanity.
It was become dark. Presently a new kind of light began to glow faroverhead, gradually increasing in strength until the whole place wassuffused with a sun-like illumination. The Rhamda Geos began to speak.
"In the last day, in the Day of Life. We have the substance ofourselves, and the words of the prophet. The Jarados has written hisprophecy in letters of gold, for all to see. 'The false ones. Them yeshall slay.' It is the will of the Rhamdas that the great Bar Senestroshall try the proof of the occult. On this, the first of the SixteenDays, the test shall be--on the Spot of Life!"
He turned away. The Bar Senestro stripped off his jewels, hissemi-armour, and stood clad in the manner of Watson. They advanced andmet in the centre of the dais, two athletes, lithe, strong, handsome,their muscles aquiver with vitality and their skins silken with health.Champions of two worlds, to wrestle for truth!
A low murmur arose, increasing until it filled the whole coliseum. Thesilver-bronze pheasants flitted above the heads of all,
flashing likefragments of the spirit of light. And all of a sudden--
One of them fluttered down and lit on Watson's shoulder.
The murmur of the throng dropped to a dead silence. Next momenta stranger thing happened. The little creature broke forth infull-throated song.
Watson instantly remembered the words of the Bar Senestro: "They singbut for the Jarados." He quietly reached up and caught the songsterin his hand, and he held it up to the astonished crowd. Still the songcontinued. Chick held him an instant longer, and then gave him a tosshigh into the air. He shot across the temple, a streak of melody,silver, dulcet, to the far corner of the giant building.
But the thing did not jar the Senestro.
"Well done, Sir Phantom! Anyhow, 'tis your last play! I would not haveit otherwise. I hope you can die as prettily! Are you ready?"
"Ready? What for?" retorted Watson. "Why, should I trouble myself withpreparations?"
But the Rhamda Geos had now come to his side.
"Do your best, my lord. I regret only that it must be to the death.It is the first death contest in the Thomahlia for a thousand circles(years). But the Senestro has challenged the prophecy. Prove that youare not a false one! My heart is with you."
It was a good word at a needed moment. Watson stepped over onto thecircular Spot of Life.
They were both barefooted. Evidently the Thomahlians fought in the old,classic manner. The stone under Watson's feet was cool and invigorating.He could sense anew that quiver of magnetism and strength. It sent athrill through his whole body, like the subtle quickening of life. Hefelt vital, joyous, confident.
The Senestro was smiling, his eyes flashing with anticipation. Hismuscled body was a network of soft movement. His step was catlike.
"What will it be?" inquired Watson. "Name your choice of destruction."
But the Bar shook his head.
"Not so, Sir Phantom. You shall choose the manner of your death, not I.Particular I am not, nor selfish."
"Make it wrestling, then," in his most off-hand manner. He was a goodwrestler, and scientific.
"Good. Are you ready?"
"Quite."
"Very well, Sir Phantom. I shall walk to the edge of the Spot and turnaround. I would take no unfair advantage. Now!"
Chick turned at the same moment and strode to his edge. He turned,and it happened; just what, Chick never knew. He remembered seeing hisopponent turn slowly about, and in the next split second he was spinningin the clutch of a tiger. Even before they struck the stone, Chick couldfeel the Senestro reaching for a death-hold.
And in that one second Watson knew that he was in the grip of hismaster.
His mind functioned like lightning. His legs and arms flashed for thecounterhold that would save him. They struck the Spot and rolled overand over. Chick caught his hold, but the Senestro broke it almostinstantly. Yet it had saved him; for a minute they spun around like apair of whirligigs. Watson kept on the defensive. He had not the speedand skill of the other. It was no mere test to touch his shoulders;it was a fight to the death; he was at a disadvantage. He workeddesperately.
When a man fights for his life he becomes superhuman. Watson was put tosomething more than his skill; the sheer spirit of the Bar broke holdafter hold; he was like lightning, panther-like, subtle, vicious. Timeafter time he spun Chick out of his defense and bore him down intoa hold of death. And each time Chick somehow wriggled out, and savedhimself by a new hold. The struggle became a blur--muscle, legs, thelust for killing--and hatred. Twice Watson essayed the offensive; firsthe got a hammer lock, and then a half-Nelson. The Bar broke both holdsimmediately.
Whatever Chick knew of wrestling, the Senestro knew just a bit more. Itwas a whirling mass of legs and bodies in continuous convulsion,silent except for the terrible panting of the men, and the low, stifledexclamations of the onlookers.
And then--
Watson grew weak. He tried once more. They spun to their feet. Butbefore he could act the Senestro had caught him in the same flying rushas in the beginning, and had whirled him off his feet. And when he camedown the Bar had an unbreakable hold.
Chick struggled in vain. The Bar tightened his grip. A spasm of painshot through Chick's torso; he could feel his bones giving way. Hisstrength was gone; he could see death. Another moment would have beenthe end.
But something happened. The Senestro miraculously let go his hold. Chickfelt something soft brush against his cheek. He heard a queer snapping,and shouts of wonder, and a dreadful choking sound from the Bar. Heraised dizzily on one arm. His eyes cleared a bit.
The great Bar was on his back; and at his throat was a snarlingthing--the creature that Chick had seen in the clover leaf of theJarados.
It was a living dog.
PAT MACPHERSON'S STORY
To Watson it was all a blur. He was too weak and too broken to rememberdistinctly. He was conscious only of an uproar, of a torrent ofmultitudinous sound. And then--the deep, enveloping tone of a bell.
Some time, somewhere, Chick had heard that bell before. In his presentcondition his memory refused to serve him. He was covered with blood; hetried to rise, to crawl to this snarling animal that was throttling theSenestro. But something seemed to snap within him, and all went black.
When he opened his eyes again all had changed. He was lying on a couchwith a number of people about. It was a minute before he recognized theJan Lucar, then the Geos, and lastly the nurse whom he had first seenwhen he awoke in the Blind Spot. Evidently he was in the hands of hisfriends, although there was a new one, a red-headed man, clad in theblue uniform of a high Bar.
He sat up. The nurse held a goblet of the green liquid to his lips. TheBar in blue turned.
"Aye," he said. "Give him some of the liquor; it will do him good. Itwill put the old energy back in his bones."
The voice rang oddly familiar in Watson's ears. The words wereThomahlian; not until Chick had drained his glass did he comprehendtheir significance.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The Bar with the red hair grinned.
"Whist, me lad," using Chick's own tongue. "Get rid of theseThomahlians. 'Tis a square game we're playin', but we're takin' nochances. Get 'em out of the way so we kin talk."
Watson turned to the others. He made the request in his adopted tongue.They bowed, reverently, and withdrew.
"Who are you?" Chick asked again.
"Oi'm Pat MacPherson."
"How did you get here?"
The other sat on the edge of the bed. "Faith, how kin Oi tell ye? 'Twasa drink, sor; a new kind av a high-ball, th' trickery av a friend an'th' ould Witch av Endor put togither."
Obviously Watson did not understand. The stranger continued: "Faith,sor, an' no more do Oi. There's no one as does, 'cept th' ould dochisself."
"The old doc! You mean Dr. Holcomb?"
Watson sat up in his bed. "Where is he?"
"In a safe place, me lad. Dinna fear for th' doctor. 'Twas him as savedye--him an' your humble sarvant, Pat MacPherson, bedad."
"He--and you--saved me?"
"Aye--there on th' Spot of Life. A bit of a thrick as th' ould doc dugoot o' his wisdom. Sure, she dinna work jist loike he said it, but 'twasa plenty t' oopset th' pretty Senestro!"
Watson asked, "What became of the Senestro?"
"Sure, they pulled him oot. Th' wee doggie jist aboot had him done for.Bedad, she's a good pup!"
"What kind of a dog?"
"A foine wan, sor, wit a bit stub av a tail. An' she's that intelligent,she kin jist about talk Frinch. Th' Thomahlians all called her th'Four-footed, an' if they kape on, they'll jist aboot make her th' Pope."
Watson was still thick headed. "I don't understand!"
"Nor I laddie. But th' ould doc does. He's got a foine head for figgers;and' he's that scientific, he kin make iron oot o' rainbows."
"Iron out of--what?"
"Rainbows, sor. Faith, 'tis meself thot's seen it. And he's beenwatchin' over ye ever since ye came. 'Twas hisself, lad, that put itinto
your head t' call him th' Jarados."
"You don't mean to say that the professor put those impulses into myhead!"
"Aye, laddie; you said it. He kin build up a man's thoughts justlike you or me kin pile oop lumber. 'Tis that deep he is wit' th'calculations!"
Watson tried to think. There was just one superlative question now. Heput it.
"I dinna know if he's th' Jarados," was the reply. "But if so be not,then he's his twin brother, sure enough."
"Is he a prisoner?"
"I wouldna say that, though there's them as think so. But if it beanybody as is holdin' him, 'tis the Senestro an' his gang o' guards."
Watson looked at the other's uniform, at the purple shako on hishead, the jewelled weapon at his side, and the Jaradic leaf on hisshoulder--insignia of a Bar of the highest rank.
"How does it come that you're a Bar, and a high one at that?"
The other grinned again. He took off his shako and ran his hand throughhis mop of red hair.
"'Tis aither th' luck of th' Irish, me lad, or of th' Scotch. Oi don'tken which--Oi'm haff each--but mostly 'tis th' virtoo av me bonny redhair."
"Why?"
"Because, leastways, in th' Thomahlia, there's always a dhrop av royaltyin th' red-headed. Me bonnie top-knot has made me a fortune. Ye see,'tis th' mark av th' royal Bars themselves; no ithers have it."
Watson said: "If you have come from Dr. Holcomb, then you must have amessage from him to me."
"Ye've said it; you an' me, an' a few Rhamdas, an' mebbe th' wee queenis goin' t' take a flight in th' June Bug. We're goin' afther th' oulddoc; an' ye kin bet there'll be as pretty a scrap as ever ye lookedon. An' afther thot's all over, we're goin' t' take anither kind of aflight--into good old Frisco."
Chick instantly asked Pat if he knew where San Francisco might be.
"Faith, 'tis only th' ould doc knows, laddie. But when we git there,'tis Pat MacPherson that's a goin' for Toddy Maloney."
"I don't know that name."
"Bedad, I do. Him it was thot give me th' dhrink."
"What drink?"
Th' dhrink thot done it. Twas a new kind av cocktail. Ye see, I'd jistgot back from Melbourne, an' I was takin' in th' lights that noight,aisy like, whin I come t' Toddy's place. I orders a dhrink av whuskey.
"'Whist, Pat,' says he, 'ye don't want whuskey; 'twill make ye dhrunk.Why don't ye take somethin' green, like th' Irish?'
"'Green," says I. ''Tis a foine colour. I dinna fear anything thot comesfra' a bottle. Pass'er oot!'
"An' thot he did. 'Twas 'creme de menthay' on th' bottle. 'An',' sayshe, ''Twon't make ye dhrunk.' But he was a liar, beggin' yer pardin.
"For by an' by Oi see his head a growin' larger an' larger, until Oicouldn't see annything but a few loights on th' cailing, an' a fewpeople on th' edges, loike. An' afther thot Oi wint oot, an' walkedtill Oi come to a hill. An' there was a moon, an' a ould hoose standin'still, which th' moon was not. So Oi stood still to watch it, but bein'tired an' weary an' not havin' got rid o' me sea-legs, Oi sat me doonon th' steps av th' hoose for a bit av a rest, an' t' watch th' moon,thinkin' mebbe she'd stand still by an' by.
"Well, sor, Oi hadn't been there more'n three 'r four minits, whin th'door opened, an' oot steps a little ould lady, aboot th' littlest an'ouldest Oi iver see in 'Frisco.
"'Good avenin', Mother Machree,' says Oi, touchin' me hat.
"'Mother Machree!' says she, an' gives me a sharp look. Also she sniffs.'Ye poor man,' says she. 'Ye'll catch yer death o' cold, out here. Yebetter coom in an' lie on me sofy.'
"Now, sor, how was Oi to ken, bein' a sailor an' ingorant? She was onlya ould lady, an' withered. How was Oi to ken thot she was th' ould Witcho' Endor?"
Watson's memory was at work on what he knew of the house at ChattertonPlace, especially regarding its occupants at the beginning of the BlindSpot mystery. The Bar's old remark caught his attention.
"The Witch of Endor?"
"Aye; thot she were. Whin Oi woke up, there was nary a hoose at all, north' ould lady, nor Toddy Maloney's, nor 'Frisco. 'Twas a strange place Iwas, sor; a church loike St. Peter's, only bigger, th' same bein' harrdto belaive. An' th' columns looked loike waterspoots, an' th' sky abovewas full av clouds, the same bein' jest aboot ready to break into hellan' tempest. But ye've been there yerself, sor.
"Well, here was a man beside me, dressed in a kilt. An' he spakes astrange language, although Oi could undershtand; and' he says, says he:
"'My lord,' was what he says.
"'My lord!' says Oi. 'Oi dinna ken what ye mane at all, at all.'
"'Are ye not a Bar?' says he.
"'Thot Oi am not!' says Oi, spakin' good English, so's to be sure he'dunderstand. 'Oi'm Pat MacPherson.'
"But he couldn' ken. Thin we left th' temple an' wint out into thestreet. An' a great crowd of people came aroun' an' began shoutin'. Byan' by we wint into anither buildin'.
"'For why sh'd iverybody look at me whin we crossed th' street jestnoo?' I asked.
"'Tis y'r clothes,' says he.
"Now, Oi don't enjoy pooblicity, sor; wherefore th' wily Scotch in metold me what to do, an' th' Irish part of me did it. I stood him on hishead, an' took his clothes off an' put them on meself. An' then no onenoticed me. Thot is, until Oi took me hat off."
"You mean, that shako?"
"Yis; th' blaemd heavy thing--'tis made o' blue feathers. Well, whin itgot so hot it made me scalp sweat, Oi took it off; an' then they calledme--'My lord' an' 'your worship,' jest loike Oi were a king.
"'Pray God,' says Oi, 'that me head dinna get bald.'
"Well, sor, Oi had a toime that was fit for th' Irish. Oi did iverything'cept git drunk; there was nothin' to git drunk with. But afther a whileI ran across anither, wit' jest as red hair as I had. He was a foineman, av coorse, an' all surrounded by blue guards. He took me into aroom himself an' begin askin' questions.
"An' I lied, sor. Av coorse, 'twas lucky thot Oi had me Scotch larnin'an' caution to guide me; but whin Oi spoke, Oi wisely let th' Irishmando all th' talkin'. An' th' great Bar liked me.
"'Verily,' says he, most solemnly, 'thou art of th' royal Bars!' An' hemade me a high officer, he did."
"Was he the Bar Senestro?" asked Watson.
"Nay; 'twas a far better man--Senestro's brother, that died not longafter. When Oi saw th' Senestro, Oi had sinse enough to kape me mouthshut. An' now Oi'm a high Bar--next to th' Senestro hisself! What'smore, sor, there's no one alive kens th' truth but yerself an' th' oulddoctor."
It was a queer story, but in the light of all that had gone before,wonderfully convincing. Watson began to see light breaking through thedarkness. "Now there are two," the old lady at 288 Chatterton Placehad said to Jerome, when the detective came looking for the vanishedprofessor. Had she referred to Holcomb and MacPherson? Two had gonethrough the Blind Spot, and two had come out--the Rhamda Avec and theNervina. "Now there are two," she had said.
"Tell me a little more about Holcomb, Pat!"
"'Tis a short story. Oi can't tell ye much, owin' to orders from theold gent hisself. He came shortly after th' death of the first Bar,Senestro's brother. Seems there was some rumpus aboot th' old RhamdaAvec, which same Oi always kept away from--him as was goin' to prove th'spirits! Annyhow, we was guardin' th' temple awaitin' th' spook as waspromised. An' thot's how we got th' ould doc.
"But th' Rhamdas niver saw him. Th' Senestro double-crossed 'em, an'slipped th' doctor oop to th' Palace av Light."
"The Palace of--what?"
"The Palace av light, sor. Tis th' home av th' Jarados. 'twas heldalways holy by th' Thomahlians; no man dared go within miles av it;since the Jarados was here, t'ousands of years ago, no one at all hasbeen inside av it.
"But the Senestro knew that th' doctor was th' real Jarados, at least het'ought so; an' he wasna afraid o' him. He's na coward, th' Senestro.He put th' doctor in th' Jarados' home! Only th' Prophecy worries him atall."
At last Watson was touching firm ground. Things were beginning to linkup--the Senestro,
the professor, the Prophecy of the Jarados.
"Well, sor, we Bars have kept th' ould doctor prisoner there iver sincehe come, wit' none save me to give him a wee bit word av comfort. But itdinna hurt th' old gent. Whin he finds all them balls an' rainbows an'eddicated secrets, he forgets iverything else; he's contint wit 'hisdiscovery. 'Tis th' wise head th' doctor has; an' Oi make no doobt he'sth' real Jarados."
The red-haired man went on to say that the professor knew of Chick'scoming from the beginning. He immediately called in MacPherson and gavehim some orders, or rather directions, which the Irishman could notunderstand. He knew only that he was to go to the Temple of the Leaf andthere touch certain objects in a certain way; also, he was to arrange toget near Chick, and give him a word of cheer.
"But it dinna work as he said it, sor; he had expected to catch th'Senestro. Instead, 'twas th' dog got th' Bar. A foine pup, sor; shesaved yer loife."
"Where's the dog now?"
"She's on th' Spot av Life, sor. She willna leave it. Tis a strangething to see how she clings to it. Th' Rhamdas only come near enough tofeed her."
Thus Chick learned that, as soon as he got well, he and MacPherson wereto seek the doctor, and help him to get away with the secrets he hadfound, the truths behind the mystery of the Spot.
"An' 'tis a glorious fight there'll be, lad. Th' Senestro's a game wan;he'll not give up, an' he'll not let go th' doctor till he has to."
This was not unwelcome news to Chick. A battle was to his liking.It reminded him of the automatic pistol which he still had in hispocket--the gun he had not thought to use in his desperate struggle withthe Bar Senestro.
"Pat," said he, with a sudden inspriation, "when you came through, didyou have a firearm?"
MacPherson reached into his pocket and silently produced a thirty-twocalibre pistol, of another make than Chick's but using the sameammunition. From another pocket he drew out a package carefully boundwith thread. He unrolled the contents. It was an old clay pipe!
"Oi came through," he stated plaintively, "wit' two guns; an' nary a bitav powder for ayther!"
Chick smiled. He searched his own pockets. First he handed over hisextra magazine full of cartridges, and then a full package of smokingtobacco.
"Wirra, wirra!" shouted MacPherson. "Faith, an' there's powder forboth!" His hands shook as he hurried to cram the old pipe full oftobacco. The cartridges could wait. He struck a light and gave a deepsigh of content as he began to puff.
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