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A three-legged rooster appeared. And Sir Thomas Katzenstein, according to schedule, roamed his box in great agitation, though in fine form, impressively carrying out the label on his cage, “Baby Royal Bengal Tiger.” “O, Mar, jist a teeny-weeny brown crust, it carn’t hurt me.” CHAPTER II THE SATURDAY GANG.
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Conrad
The man gave him an affectionate slap. “Go, then. You’re a right game kid, sure.” “Where is the dern dog hurt?” commiserated Moses. “Don’t nobody start ‘Greenland Icy Mountings’ round here,” objected Moses. “I got orl the cool drarfts I need comin’ through this here hole in my shirt.” “Yes, you shall be our dear little girl.” Mrs. Bennett took the forlorn child in her motherly arms and kissed her. “You’re tired and hungry, too, aren’t you?”.
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