He shimmied up the flagpole.

Fog cottoned the steep, wooded slopes on each side of the lake, and the air was chill and penetrating.

Her mother was betwixt and between, and her father the same; but Rosie was as thin as a yard of pump-water, and could—and did—eat like a beagle without ever putting-on an extra ounce. Maybe she was abusing her good-fortune.

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