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Lost trumpet

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(257)
the LOST TRUMPET 257
—a boy’s treasure-tale come true—but there could
be no doubt of that shape. . . . The fire fluffed down
into darkness. We began to shiver in the chill air,
and I put my arm round Pelagueya, and she stopped
shivering and turned her face, a dim, sweet face to
thank me. Then :
“We’ll all die of pneumonia if we remain here.
And your tents are too uncomfortable after such a
night. And you’ve no electric light with which to
examine the Thing. The three of you must bring it
over to my house and must stop to breakfast.”
. Hu^bsch slung the object under his armpit, turn-
ing his great, slow head upon his temporary secre¬
tary.
“That’ll be fine. Princess,” he agreed.
R

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