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"I can guess what she said," interrupted Jen, hastily. "No more of this till after dinner, my dear lad. Then I'll explain all." "You'd better go, man, before I bring my father to set our dog on you," he exploded, and, before I could stop him, his thin little legs went trundling down the garden path toward home. "Is dere poison in de bag, white man?".
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"Now you see, Molly, how you'd cry with that kiss-spot gone," he said with an amused, manly little tenderness in his voice that I had never heard before, and he cuddled his lips against mine in almost the only voluntary kiss he had given me since I had got him into his ridiculous little trousers under his blouses. "You can have most a hundred kisses every night if you don't say no more about not going, and make that whale-hook for me quick," he coaxed against my cheek. "Oh, Bruce, the sycamore you painted is gone!" called Patricia, not turning. "Come and see!" Lieutenant Maurice Alymer was also blonde, and also had blue eyes and a jaunty mustache, somewhat smaller than his senior's. His hair was yellow and curly, his features were boldly cut, and his six foot of flesh and muscle was straight and lithe. Athlete was stamped strongly on his appearance, and if not clever, he was at least sufficiently good-looking and good-natured to make him almost as popular as the major. Jen always maintained that Maurice was the living image of himself when a dashing young officer, out in Ashantee; but as the good major was considerably under the middle height and Maurice considerably over it, this statement must be accepted with some reserve. It passed as one of Jen's jokes, for a mild quality of which he was noted. "Well, I was not quite myself, major, in the first place; and in the second I missed Dido!".
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