It would be too mortifying. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully. " "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane.
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