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"The song it is," cried Griffin, stepping on a chair and beginning to beat time with a big paint-brush. "Now then, all together, my children. Warble!" "Not exactly. The needle within is hollow, and a store of poison is contained in the handle up here. When squeezed these turquoise stones press a bag within and the poison runs down to the point of the needle. In fact, the whole infernal contrivance is modeled upon a serpent's fang." "What fun it'll be to tell the gang at the Academy," she crowed. "Won't Griffin rejoice and won't Doris Leighton wish she'd been good! Margaret Howes will have a chance to meet Bruce, too. It'll be a perfect lark all around!".
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"How do you know that?" asked the major, all on the alert. Yes, the word "trousseau" ought to have a definite surname after it always, and that's why my loyalty dragged poor Mr. Carter out into the light of my conscience. The thinking of him had a strange effect on me. I had laid out the dream in dark grey-blue cloth, tailored almost beyond endurance, to wear in the train going home, and had thrown the old black silk bag across the chair to give to the hotel maid, but the decision of the session between conscience and loyalty made me pack the precious blue wonder and put on once more the black rags of remembrance in a kind of panic of respect. Patricia smiled to herself at the effect of her ruse. "All right. I'll be good," she promised. "Now, to come down to earth again—where are we going to feed? I wish we could find the lunch room. It would be such fun to look our future classmates over while we browse." "'An Arabian Nights Entertainment,'" read Patricia, mumbling in her haste. "'No guests admitted unless in costume' … m-m-m-m … 'The Sultan Haroun-al-Raschid' … Oh, I see! We can rig up in anything we choose,—so that it looks sort of Turkish. Dee-licious! I know what to do with my rose-colored cloak right now!".
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