“Very good,” he said. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. We want it badly at the present time. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around. " "That's what troubles me," rejoined Ben.
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