“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. . Enough's as good as a feast of the dainties you provide.
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