God help me. On the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at Wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off. It probably still wouldn’t help. “I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence.
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