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The heat and smoke increased alarmingly as they went on, the man puffing at the boy’s pace. In and out, occasionally doubling and returning but never losing altitude, Billy crashed on. His slender body slipped through underbrush by way of small apertures that would not admit the man’s greater bulk; he had to break his way. The boy, also accustomed to running, climbing, had the advantage of better breath; though the other could not, Billy still held his mouth shut against the suffocating smoke, kept his smarting eyes partly closed. He obeyed, talking whimsically to his pets as he went. “A girl under foot all the time,” Shifty complained. He had no sister..
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Conrad
Billy turned the bulky papers over and over as if to gather some hint of their meaning from fold and stiffness. “What is it, Mr. Smith?” he asked wonderingly. “Oh, Miss Gordon, here’s my name,” announced Betty, excitedly, pointing to a central part of the quilt. “An’ here’s yours right clost to it.” Billy entered with a cat under each arm. “Geewhillikins,” he introduced, “the best fighter in town,” and put down a stub-tailed, gray cat, half as large as the house pets, with “tom-cat” speaking from every hair of him. “I think mamma’s partial,—she lets sister’s cats come in the house, but not mine.” She glanced down the road, and swiftly around. Not a soul in sight. Obedience was inevitable..
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