Jean, too, crossed the little bridge, climbed the fence, mounted her wheel, and rolled off down the dusty road.,
“Murder! Murder!” he shouted with all his strength; and his boy’s voice reached far up and down the lonely distances.,
The child was gifted in this most elemental of the arts, and her histrionic ability carried along the interest of her listeners even when the printed matter on the back of the paper interfered with the clearness of the picture. Her imagination bolstered up the defects of dry facts..
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