“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. Cocking the gun. "Water!" he gasped. ‘Gone!’ he said.
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