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“Yes, my uncle the Admiral said so; he read it from a great big paper—he read out my whole name. John Christopher Winkel Blossom, he read; and that is as true—as true”— “You are a good scholar?” “It is horrid, but”—great searching first in one pocket of his trousers, then in the other—“but if you will please take this report back”—.
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Conrad
Lars poked Johnny in the side. “Just listen to that, boy!” The duke quitted the mansion, re-animated by the cheerfulness of morn, and pursued his journey. He could gain no intelligence of the fugitives. About noon he found himself in a beautiful romantic country; and having reached the summit of some wild cliffs, he rested, to view the picturesque imagery of the scene below. A shadowy sequestered dell appeared buried deep among the rocks, and in the bottom was seen a lake, whose clear bosom reflected the impending cliffs, and the beautiful luxuriance of the overhanging shades. “Must have been fun,” was Jerry’s comment. “And if you’ve made a friend of Feather-in-the-Wind, you ought to be proud. He’ll be useful, too, as he’s the chief of that bunch of Apaches. Once an Indian is a friend, you know, he’s a friend for good.” Stumbling, panting, he ran around the corner of the hut, urged by the knowledge that he was afire. Luckily the river nearly touched the back wall of the hut that had been his prison. A few steps and he fell face downward in the shallows..
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