. "In my opinion," remarked Kneebone, "it doesn't matter how soon society is rid of two such scoundrels; and if Blueskin dies by the rope, and Jonathan by the hand of violence, they'll meet the fate they merit. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. He looked eager and flushed and troubled.
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