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Choked, stifling with the intense heat, Bob fell on his face, remembering that smoke always rises. “The Greasers making a stand, I reckon,” was Ted Hoyt’s comment. “Probably a regular battle.” “Don’t I see what?”.
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Johnny Blossom put his hands in his pockets and whistled, “Yes, we love our grand old Norway,” loudly and shrilly. “Why don’t they shoot?” he thought. Hardly had the thought flashed through his brain when a bullet whistled by him. Then came another and another. The King had word brought him that the Princess was approaching. "Well," he said, "have her brothers, I wonder, told me the truth? Is she more beautiful than her portrait?" "Sire," said those near him, "there will be nothing to wish for, if she is as beautiful." "You are right," replied the King, "I shall be well content with that. Come, let us go and see her," for he knew by the hubbub in the courtyard that she had arrived. He could not distinguish anything that was said, except, "Fie, fie, how ugly she is!" and he imagined that the people were calling out about some little dwarf or animal that she had brought with her, for it never entered his head that the words were applied to the Princess herself. “Soldiers!” Bob gasped as the outlines of the men grew clear against the star-lit sky as they topped a near-by ridge. “Cavalry!”.
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