She was suddenly grave. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. ‘Oh, have you? Well, in that case, I love your little booted feet, and your ridiculously long eyelashes, and—’ THANK YOU! Thank you so much for downloading and reading my book. "In spots you are a thoroughbred; but here's a black mark on your ticket, lad.
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