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Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. "I can do without it," muttered Jack. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. . The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. . ’ He sighed. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. I’ve already been accepted to a couple of schools out east.
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