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Good dog, good doggie, good Weejee!" Meantime "good Weejee" had come out of the water and was moving again towards me. "He goes straight to you," said my hostess. "I think he must have taken a fancy to you." He had. To prove it, Weejee gave himself a rotary whirl like a twirled mop. "Oh, I'm SO sorry," said Mrs. Sopley. "I am. He's wetted you.
There was a short GUR-R-R and a slight mix-up. "Weejee! Weejee!" called Mrs. Sopley. "How DARE you, sir! You're just a BAD dog!! Go and lie down, sir. I'm so sorry. I think, you know, it's your white trousers. For some reason Weejee simply HATES white trousers. I do hope he hasn't torn them." "Oh, no," I said; "it's nothing only a slight tear."
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