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Updated: June 25, 2025
Georgie was driven over from the Mission by her husband, the next day, in Susan's honor, and carried the fat, loppy baby in for so brief a visit that it was felt hardly worth while to unwrap and wrap up again little Myra Estelle. Mrs.
A tall, loppy young female in a sagged skirt and a faded pink shirtwaist is driftin' up the driveway, towin' a bow-legged three-year-old boy by one hand and luggin' a speckle-faced baby on her hip. "Oh!" says Marjorie. "That scamp of a Bob Flynn's Katie again." Seems Flynn had been one of Mr.
An amused smile dimpled her face as she gave the sofa cushion a thump and once more changed her seat. "I'm worse than Goldilocks trying all the chairs of the three bears, but that's too loppy!" She whisked into a fourth seat, this time opposite the portières. To her consternation the parted curtains revealed an appalling fact.
"Don't place him," says Loppy. "Never turned a flag for him, anyway. Why?" "Oh, I'd kind of like to get a sketch of him," says I. "That's easy," says Loppy. "Remember Scanlon, that used to be doorman at Headquarters?" "Squint?" says I. "Same one," says he. "Well, he's inside one of the house detective squad. His night on, too.
"But what gets me is that ear. I remember it now. I remember the day when we were on the beach at Tulagi with Jerry, and when his brother came ashore from the Eugenie in a whaleboat. And his brother had that self-same, loppy, crinkled ear." "And more," Villa argued. "How many singing dogs have we ever known! Only one Jerry. Evidently such a type occurs rarely.
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