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So often they had talked it over, and always neither was quite satisfied. A conflict of emotions was in her face now; her life's dream was there, her great fear. "They shouldn't be hard for you to get," she marvelled. "Far easier than the camp stables." "I lef 'em to the last. The boss is cuter'n a thousand bohunks.
Oh, he's cute, Benny is; but the bashfullest forty-four fat that ever carried a cane, a reg'lar Mr. Shy Ann kind of a duck. He has a lisp when he talks too, and that makes him seem cuter'n ever. About twice a week he drifts up to the brass gate and says to me, "Thay, thonny, whereth Bob?" Makes my mouth pucker up like I'd been suckin' a lemon, just to hear him.
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