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. Shouldn't you be getting home?\" \"It's not far. “Let me see,” he said. “She doesn’t know. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. But in the appendix of the dictionary she had discovered magic names—Hugo, Dumas, Thackeray, Hawthorne, Lytton. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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