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Chapter 23 THIRD
--Ours is the skie,
Where at what fowl we please our hawk shall flie.
RANDOLPH.
One bright September morning, old Raoul was busy in the mews where he kept his hawks, grumbling all the while to himself as he surveyed the condition of each bird, and blaming alternately the carelessness of the under-falconer, and the situation of the building
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