She is, in her way, a dear. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. Dump popped his head into the cage. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. ” “All right! And I never dreamed anything of the sort was going on.
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