--You're a terrible man, Stevie, said Davin, taking the short pipe from his mouth, always alone. --What are you laughing at? asked Stephen. For there again, against the glass, as if to blight his confession and stay his answer, was the hideous author of our woe--the white face of damnation. I should not have been prompted, by stress of need, by desperation of mind--I scarce know what to call it--to invoke such further aid to intelligence as might spring from pushing my colleague fairly to the wall.
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