"Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. ’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. " "Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself.
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