"Who, then?" demanded Jack. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. "Set your prisoner free!" returned Wood. Come along with us in the morning. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. Wood fared still worse. No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it.
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