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Updated: June 29, 2025
Foreboding touched the boy like the brush of a bird's wing, and death and sorrow were as remote as infinity to him. At the barn-door the lad called sharply: "Bob!" "Suh!" answered a muffled voice, and Bob emerged, gray with oatdust. "I want my buggy to-night." Bob grinned. "Sidebar?" "Yes." "New whip new harness little buggy mare reckon?" "I want 'em all." Bob laughed loudly. "Oh, I know.
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