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"Have you dined?" asked Sir William. Billy's eyes strayed to those reels and he sighed to think that the washing and retarring of the nets was just another sign that the glad summer holidays would soon be over and the drab days of fall—and school—would soon be there. A low-flying flock of black ducks passed over his head in flight from the lake's bosom where they had rested through the day to the marsh feeding grounds across the point, and the shadow passed from the boy's face. "Maybe I do, but I ain't tellin' all I know," said Billy. "What's the good? Nobody 'ud believe me.".
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Conrad
Maurice looked frightened. "I wasn't pokin' fun at the charm, Bill, cross my heart, I wasn't," he said earnestly. "Does the ship call anywhere in England before her final departure for her port?" asked the Admiral in a voice that proclaimed his heart hot with bewilderment, doubt, and anger. He glanced at the window. It was raised but a few inches; exit was effectively closed in that direction. He made up his mind to reach for his hat and walk with dignity from the class, the church and those soulless, sinister-faced people who watched and waited gloatingly for his downfall. No, there was still a better plan. He would stagger and grope his way out like one who had been suddenly stricken with sickness. Yes, that was what he would do. CHAPTER IX MR GREYQUILL'S VISIT.
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