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How Mr. Winkle, instead of shooting at the Pigeon and killing the Crow, shot at the Crow and wounded

           

           ‘Capitalgamewellplayedsomestrokesadmirable,’saidthestranger,asbothsidescrowdedintothetent,attheconclusionofthegame.

           ‘Youhaveplayedit,sir?’inquiredMr.Wardle,whohadbeenmuchamusedbyhisloquacity.‘Playedit!ThinkIhavethousandsoftimesnothereWestIndiesexcitingthinghotworkvery.’‘Itmustberatherawarmpursuitinsuchaclimate,’observedMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Warm!redhotscorchingglowing.PlayedamatchoncesinglewicketfriendthecolonelSirThomasBlazowhoshouldgetthegreatestnumberofruns.Wonthetossfirstinningsseveno’clockA.m.sixnativestolookoutwentin;keptinheatintensenativesallfaintedtakenawayfreshhalf-dozenorderedfaintedalsoBlazobowlingsupportedbytwonativescouldn’tbowlmeoutfaintedtooclearedawaythecolonelwouldn’tgiveinfaithfulattendantQuankoSambalastmanleftsunsohot,batinblisters,ballscorchedbrownfivehundredandseventyrunsratherexhaustedQuankomustereduplastremainingstrengthbowledmeouthadabath,andwentouttodinner.’

           ‘Andwhatbecameofwhat’s-his-name,Sir?’inquiredanoldgentleman.

           ‘Blazo?’

           ‘Notheothergentleman.’‘QuankoSamba?’

           ‘Yes,sir.

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