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Updated: June 7, 2025
They'll be glad Ingred's come. With four of us out of one form, things ought to be rather jinky. Hullo, here they are! I say, girls, let's go to our diggings." The two girls who came strolling up arm-in-arm were the most absolute contrast. Nora was large-limbed, plump, rosy, with short-cut hair, a lively manner, and any amount of confidence.
Only six hands were raised, belonging respectively to Ingred Saxon, Avie Irving, Avis Marlowe, Francie Hall, Bess Haselford, and Beatrice Jackson herself. "A poor muster for Va!" remarked Kitty. "As Ingred's our warden, I should think she'd better write the report." "The Finbury ground is a horribly awkward place to get to," put in Beatrice. "I suppose you'll motor there, Ingred."
Is there any bridge near?" "That's certainly Waverley, but there's no bridge till you come to one a mile and a half down stream." Ingred's face was tragic. She turned to Beatrice and Verity, who had joined her. "It's no use! We shall have to go back!" But the lady was whispering something to the gentleman, and he beckoned to the girls with a smile. "Don't run away!" he said.
"I'll never be able to dance in those!" she decided. "I'll put them on to start with, and then kick them off and slip on my sandals instead. They're the most extraordinary clumpy things in the world, I feel like a cat walking in walnut shells!" Ingred's toilet progressed very favorably till it came to the stage of coloring her face.
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