“Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. "Mr. \" Lucy grinned, thinking of the dark gamey odors she had smelled emanating from a few of the less hygienic boys in school. At last—I told a story. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not.
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