Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban. The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. They trudged along a little hungry, because of the fruitarian refreshments, and mentally very active. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. "Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. His age was not far from fifty.
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