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"I I noticed you 'adn't 'ad anything to eat, an' I spoke to Gumbly, an' he said you wasn't exactly cut off from supplies. So I brought up this. It's your potted 'am tin, ain't it, Mr. Corkran?" "Why, Foxibus, you're a brick," said Stalky. "I didn't think you had this much what's the word, Beetle?" "Bowels," Beetle replied, promptly. "Thank you, Sergeant. That's young Carter's potted ham, though."
Some one had shoved her along right underneath, so far as they could shove un. Cats don't make theyselves pillows for to die on. Shoved along, she were, when she was settin' for to be cold, laike." "Oh, yeou'm too clever to live, Fatty. Yeou go get wed an' taught some sense," said Lena, the affianced of Gumbly. "Larned a little 'fore iver some maidens was born.
Jamais j'ai gloate' comme je gloaterai aujourd'hui. Nous bunkerons aux bunkers." And it seemed good to them so to do. Down in the basement, where the gas flickers and the boots stand in racks, Richards, amid his blacking-brushes, held forth to Oke of the Common-room, Gumbly of the dining-halls, and fair Lena of the laundry. "Yiss. Her were in a shockin' staate an' condition.
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