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"Two greys and a mallard," Billy answered over his shoulder. "Could'a killed more, but what's the use. They wouldn't keep; weather's too warm." "No, Billy," he assured the boy, "Sphinx and Dexter aren't with me today, so you have nothing to fear from them. I doubt if they would hurt you, anyway," he added. "You can handle most dogs, I am told." "Well, we'll see, young Mr. Impudence." The long pointer rose and fell. Billy caught the stroke full on his palm. His face whitened with pain, but the smile did not leave his lips..
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"His name ain't Hinter," said Billy. "It's Jacobs." A grin rippled across his face and grew into a chuckle. "I bet I sleep in the barn fer a week. I sure hate the smell of sulphur." Mr Lawrence, with his back turned upon this cabin door, heard Lucy's voice, but not what she said. If Paul answered her his voice was so sunk by the awfulness of her presence, by all that she meant being at sea, by all that she had typified to this forlorn vagrant when on shore, that his accents were inaudible in the cabin. "No, ours won't be them kind of colds," Billy explained. "They'll be the dry-cough, consumption kind, that either cure up quick er slow. All we gotta do is dig up an Injun turnip out o' the bush an' nibble it. It'll pucker our throats up so tight we'll be hoarse enough to sing bass in the choir.".
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