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saturday lxxxvii

yeah. it's like that.

"finish shaving?" repeated alfred in a puzzled way. then his hand went mechanically to his cheek and he stared at zoie in astonishment. "by jove!" he exclaimed, "i had forgotten all about it. that shows you how excited i am." and with a reluctant glance toward the cradle, he went quickly from the room, singing a high-pitched lullaby.

just as the three conspirators were drawing together for consultation, alfred returned to the room. it was apparent that there was something important on his mind.

and there we had a good room to ourselves, with wine and good cake, and saw the show very well.

identical with the one in the possession of mr mackenzie which he had obtained from the ill-starred wanderer. there was no mistaking the gold-lined fretwork cut in the thickness of the blade. so the man had told the truth after all.

he thought also with a certain pleasure of the surprise that some of them would feel when they saw his appointed mansion.

the lonely nightingale is heard.

the day will make thee silent soon,
o nightingale sing on for love!
while yet upon the shadowy grove
splinter the arrows of the moon.

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wabbit season
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