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The Shoulder of Athos, the Baldric of Porthos and the Handkerchief of Aramis

           D’Artagnanhadalreadystrodedownthreeorfourstairs,butatAthos’slastremarkhestoppedshort.

           "MORBLEU,monsieur!"saidhe,"howeverfarImaycome,itisnotyouwhocangivemealessoningoodmanners,Iwarnyou."

           "Perhaps,"saidAthos.

           "Ah!IfIwerenotinsuchhaste,andifIwerenotrunningaftersomeone,"saidd’Artagnan.

           "MonsieurMan-in-a-hurry,youcanfindmewithoutrunningME,youunderstand?"

           "Andwhere,Iprayyou?"

           "NeartheCarmes-Deschaux."

           "Atwhathour?"

           "Aboutnoon."

           "Aboutnoon?Thatwilldo;Iwillbethere."

           "Endeavornottomakemewait;foratquarterpasttwelveIwillcutoffyourearsasyourun."

           "Good!"criedd’Artagnan,"Iwillbetheretenminutesbeforetwelve."Andhesetoffrunningasifthedevilpossessedhim,hopingthathemightyetfindthestranger,whoseslowpacecouldnothavecarriedhimfar.

           Butatthestreetgate,Porthoswastalkingwiththesoldieronguard.Betweenthetwotalkerstherewasjustenoughroomforamantopass.D’Artagnanthoughtitwouldsufficeforhim,andhesprangforwardlikeadartbetweenthem.Butd’Artagnanhadreckonedwithoutthewind.Ashewasabouttopass,thewindblewoutPorthos’slongcloak,andd’Artagnanrushedstraightintothemiddleofit.

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