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“Here, Mose, hoi’ this here jint while I fit the next one inter it.” A tongue-twisting silence ensued. The best of all was a letter from Jimmy, scrawled with his left hand. Thus adjured, Howard began, while Mrs. Wopp leaned back in her chair rocking vigorously..

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“I knew it!” Billy panted feverishly. “The Ha’nt!” Heedless of the dog running with his nose close to the ground, Billy rushed on. His shirt was torn, his trousers hanging by one suspender, his shoes cut and one tap turned back. Ashes whitened his hair; though at the back a dark mat was still damp from oozing blood,—the handkerchief that had bound it had been torn off by a twitching twig. His smarting eyes watered so that he could hardly see his way. Yet of all this he was unconscious. Weariness, pain, his cracked and bleeding lips,—he knew nothing of them, felt nothing. “Why, Billy? I don’t believe in whipping unless all else fails.” To further impress the unsophisticated guest, a Latin Grammar was exhumed from a pile of books, and totally careless of how Moses was smarting under such an exhibition of scholarship, Clarence recited loudly “Amo, amas, amat.” “Did Clarence show you the sights of the city this morning?” asked Mr. Crump, trying to repress a smile..