"That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. ” She turned away. You cannot depart hence. But there was no sign from her. You shall hear from me to-morrow. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. Wood, sinking into a chair, and fanning herself violently,—"what a fluster you have put me into with your violence, to be sure! And at the very time, too, when you know I'm expecting a visit from Mr. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on.
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