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“It is therefore my last wish that my grand-nephew, John Christopher Winkel Blossom, inherit after me my estate of Kingthorpe, whole and undivided, including the mansion and park, the Works, the Bay Point wharves, the Holmen sawmill”— “Yes, can do,” stated the Indian, and as they had approached the upper camp during their talk, he made a swift move of the hand in farewell and slipped swiftly into the shadows. Quick the magic raptures steal.
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Conrad
The Principal was a large man with a thick, blond beard and sharp, blue eyes. “Sure do,” was the answer. “’Specially safe as I elect myself a c’mittee o’ one to stick here on guard.” Inside, Bob had been listening with wide open ears and his mind pictured the scene Jerry had left to find Mr. Whitney and filled out the holes the winded boy had left in his description. He knew the auxiliary spillway and the harm it could do if it should fail to carry its burden. It was a temporary affair of wood to be used only until a system of drains could be built to take care of the excess water that collected below the coffer dam. His mind’s eye saw Rutherford and Jerry at the dangerous place: Rutherford, young and inexperienced, doing what he could to avert disaster, but rattled, probably badly so. He wanted Mr. Whitney or somebody with practical knowledge and he had sent Jerry off to bring help. All Bob could do was to hope that the wall would hold. “No, Link, I guess not. I’ve seen it all and I think I’ll go down and visit with the boys at the bunkhouse till you get back.”.
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