From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. "How very like it is!" "Not so strange, surely," laughed Thames, "that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended. Spurlock snatched the check out of Ruth's hands and ran to the window. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding.
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