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A PERILOUS DESERT JOURNEY. loi
fire, above the embers of which the expiring bhie blaze was
feebly dancing, we rolled ourselves in our sheep-skins and
went to sleep. Although we hospitably left every door open,
none of the messengers of Santa Claus took a single peep
into our airy domicile. A Christmas at the North Pole
could not be more dreary.
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