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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

The three of us pattered out of the stream abreast. "No trouble," replied the sergeant, "it wouldn't take half a minute."

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

"Yes." She stooped low under the interlacing boughs and plunged with me into the double darkness.

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