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His forehead was furrowed like a corduroy road and the one rampant question in his mind at the moment seemed to be mired hopelessly between his bushy eyebrows. "Lord!" he exclaimed a bit flounderingly. "Are you the nurse that helped me last week on that fractured skull?" "Yes, sir," said Rae Malgregor.

She sobbed and screamed at her helplessness. At last she managed to climb flounderingly back into her seat, and, bending her stiffened arms to Jim's neck, she moaned and cried to him. When again she could hold her seat no longer, she fell to the horse's side, dragged herself along in the frozen slush, and, screaming with the pain of her freezing hands, drew herself up into the saddle.

Now they eluded him, leaving him in confusion. The situation was one for which he found himself unprepared. "I doubt if I shall ever feel otherwise about her," he went on somewhat flounderingly. "You and she are women of almost opposite types in a way and yet yet I've been realizing while you talked, that in many respects you are alike."

Robinson apologetically hums and hahs, flounders through the bad bit of road as he can; flounderingly indicates that he has more to offer. Monsieur ! His Majesty's indignation increased here, all the more as I kept a profound silence during his hot expressions, and did not speak at all except to beg his Majesty's reflection upon what I had said.

You haven't told me everything?" "I I don't want to tell you everything." She looked at him beseechingly in the silence that fell. "Must I?" she quavered finally. "You must," he said imperatively. "You must tell me everything." "Well, then... must I?" "You must." "He... I... we..." she began flounderingly. Then blurted out, "I let him, and he kissed me." "Go on," Bashford commanded desperately.

"Why, I thought if it was true maybe I'd ask you to tell me if I how I could get a chance at him." The boy's explanation was even more flounderingly abrupt than his former question had been, but his eyes never wavered from the newspaper man's face. The latter laid his notebook upon the truck with exaggerated care and rose and faced him. "Another!" he lamented in simulated despair.

"I do sound wild," admitted Jason, "but if you could have seen the poor thing's face when she asked to see you Anne, she'll be dead before morning." The big man's glance was full of entreaty. "But if she doesn't know me, why on earth should she wish to see me, at such a time?" asked Anne, still more astonished. Flounderingly Vandervelde tried to tell her.