Bob grabbed it and, before it could go out, nursed the flicker in his cupped hands, not realizing that it was burning his fingers cruelly. Carefully, yet swiftly, he carried the flame to the little pile of threads. As these caught, his heart grew light with thankfulness.,
“And I sort of led him on,” interrupted the boy. “I’d like it a heap if you’d let him go.”,
“Well. I’ve been out sailing with an umbrella”—.
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