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A dressing-room then. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. His sister followed. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. \"Today's Friday, isn't it?\" Lucy remembered. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully.
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