Doug Wykstra

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“You used a shovel,” he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small gravel, tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood as fine as needles. “Had to in one place,” said the stolid constable.  “I sent a keeper to fetch a spade.  When he heard me scraping the ground with it he leaned his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog.”
The Secret Agent: A Simple Tale
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