Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid. It begins with that queer piccolo solo. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. But she was not to be tempted. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. “Let me see,” he said.
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