But I don’t think she lays hold of one so. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. He had looked at it before without comprehension. These things illuminated her situation extremely. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours.
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