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“Right you are, Whisk—I mean, Mr. Whitney,” Bob answered in some confusion. “I suppose you’ll have to be Mister Whitney now since you are the Big Boss. Last summer you were the fellow who was so good to us kids and we took liberties.” Up the tree went both the boys. They picked six apples, but found it impossible to reach any more. All the others hung upon thin old branches that cracked if you but touched them, and would by no means bear a boy’s weight. The boys tried and tried to get the apples, but the tempting things hung exasperatingly out of reach. “Jolly sort of trip I’m going to have,” thought Bob, “if Jerry is going to keep up this sort of thing. I ought never to have said he was a grouch, though.”.
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When the Queen heard this dreadful news, she uttered piercing cries, and clasped her child to her breast. "My life shall be taken," she said, "before my daughter shall be delivered up to that monster; let him rather take our kingdom and all that we possess. Unnatural father! can you possibly consent to such a cruel thing? What! my child made into a pie! The thought of it is intolerable! Send me this terrible ambassador, maybe the sight of my anguish may touch his heart." “We baked cookies at home yesterday,” he said suddenly. “May I ask whether it was you that took the boat-hook out of my sail-boat?” “P’r’aps—p’r’aps it goes through a cave,” suggested Bob. “I’ve read about underground rivers, haven’t you?”.
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