"Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. When I've had an hour's rest, I'll be after Blueskin. My heart misgives me.
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