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"All right, I'll stay." Billy shook his head. "No good, she'd be onto us bigger'n a barn. Tell you what we might do. We might take bad colds an' sorta work on her sympathies." "Well then, you best let me be. What I feel he should get, he's goin' to get, and get right. You keep out'a this, Tom Wilson, if you want me to keep on; that's all.".
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"Certainly not. Oh for God's sake stop probing me this way. I'm willing to tell all there is to tell." Mr Lawrence looked at the red-headed, monkey-faced, pleading creature, not, in that look designing, it was manifest, to give him the berth; but all on a sudden his face slightly changed, an idea seemed to flash up in him and work in his countenance, just as a light kindled suddenly within a mask made of something transparent might, by the intention of the artist, change its look. "In other words, sir," continued Mr Greyquill, still addressing Captain Acton, "I beg to state that if I should be so fortunate as to help you in your trouble I desire no money reward, nor should dream of taking any." Billy returned her angry gaze without a flicker of an eyelid. The reproach in his grey eyes was enough to make any mother ashamed of having doubted, and, as a matter of natural consequence, anger her the more. "How do you know that's Anson's suit?" she shot at Billy, between rubs. "How do you know it, you young imp, you?".
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