"My worst fears are realized. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. While he was swinging in mid air, Thames regarded his uncle with a stern look, and cried in a menacing voice, "We shall meet again. "Another moment, and it'll be too late. ‘More nor that. I know he is dead. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. A rock gave way to deep water. “You’re burning up. ‘You speak as if you expected to meet her again, Gerald. Success to our enterprise!" "Success to our enterprise!" echoed the others, significantly. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever.
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