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Sylvia saw with the eyes of her mind the ruins, though her real eyes saw nothing but two lines, meant to be upright, joined together by a wild zig-zag, and with some peaked scrabbles and round whirls intended for smoke.
"He just gives one kick, out smart, and picks up what he's after; she makes ever so many little scrabbles, and half the time concludes it ain't there! What was it you were saying? About mother? O, she don't want me! The trouble is, Aunt Blin, we two don't want each other, and never did." She picked up a straw and bent it back and forth, absently, into little bits, until it broke.
On such occasions the police made an extra raid, and more or less of the gang were scooped in, but nothing ever came of it. Dead men tell no tales, and they were not more silent than the Scrabbles, if, indeed, these had anything to tell. It came gradually to be an old story. Skippy and his associates were long since in the Rogues' Gallery, numbered and indexed as truly a bad lot now.
You remind me of our old writing-master at school, who used to say tragically that he couldn't understand how it was that when that happened to a man he didn't just take a gun and shoot himself. I recommend you the pond, Mildred. It's more feminine." "Please don't talk to Milly like that," retorted Ian, not quite lightly. "She always follows your advice, you know. It it's only scrabbles."
On such occasions the police made an extra raid, and more or less of the gang were scooped in; but nothing ever came of it. Dead men tell no tales, and they were not more silent than the Scrabbles, if, indeed, these had anything to tell. It came gradually to be an old story. Skippy and his associates were long since in the Rogues' Gallery, numbered and indexed as truly a bad lot now.
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