“Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. "He has passed this way," cried Jonathan, exultingly; "I have him safe enough. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams.
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