Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it. She learned quickly, absorbing all she could as quickly as possible as her adoration grew for him. “It’s something that bothers me. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. Thinks they’re the same as soldiers.
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