I. The mummies were tossed into the collection. Come along, master. It was an impulse. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Your life is like a funeral March. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. "You're inquisitive, young gentleman," replied Jackson, coldly.
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