Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. And now for the fawney— the ring I mean. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think.
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