Dear me! if there isn't his knock. " "If you stir, I'll call him!" rejoined Winifred. But here the resemblance stopped. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. ’ ‘And you are of a disposition entirely untruthful,’ retorted Gerald.
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