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"Oh, nassy dray bid Horror!" cried his mistress, turning quickly at this sound and waving a pink parasol at Clematis. "Shoo! DIRTY dog! Go 'way!" And she was able somehow to connect him with the wash-tub and boiler, for she added, "Nassy laundrymans to have bad doggies!" Mr. Watson rushed upon Clematis with angry bellowings and imaginary missiles. "You disgusting brute!" he roared. "How DARE you?"
"Lucky for us," she said, "we had a nice dray bid MANS to protect us, wasn't it, Flopit?" And she thought it necessary to repeat something she had already made sufficiently emphatic. "Nassy laundrymans!" "I expect I gave that big mongrel the fright of his life," said Mr. Watson, with complacency. "He'll probably run a mile!"
And as for the third of this little party, Miss Parcher's visitor, those peregrinating legs suggested nothing familiar to her. "Oh, see the fun-ee laundrymans!" she cried, addressing a cottony doglet's head that bobbed gently up and down over her supporting arm. "Sweetest Flopit must see, too! Flopit, look at the fun-ee laundrymans!" "'Sh!" murmured Miss Parcher, choking. "He might hear you."
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