"Bill," Anson's voice was husky with terror. "You won't let him touch me, will you, Bill?",
Billy scratched his head reflectively. "Not much, any more," he said. "Course I like duck-shootin', an' do quite a lot of it in the fall.",
"If you had somethin' sweet an' soothin' to give him," Billy suggested. "Pine syrup, er hoarhound, er somethin' like that, now—".
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