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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. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. I want my freedom. Let us part in peace. Don't feel fussed upon my account.
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