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"Haven't, Sondo, 'pon my word," said Falco, drawing closer. His hands were in his pockets, and despite his muddy clothes, his dishevelled hair, and a certain sagging of his figure, he appeared quite casual and at ease. It had always bothered his mother. Any amount of horrible things could happen, and he would not give them a second glance. But if it came to losing his apple pie...
"Let's walk on together and look for them," said Falco. "Oh, but it's a wretched not. I'm awfully cold, but I'm sure you're feeling the same. I say, things haven't been going well, have they?" He said it casually, but he glanced at Sondo from the corner of his eye.
Sondo made no answer.
"Don't know how you fared in the water," Falco went on, light and cheery, "but I didn't do too badly at all. I hardly had the time to realise I couldn't draw a breath when I was sitting on the bank, blinking and sputtering. I got in the water long enough to realise how cold it was, though. Brrr! I wish the sun would rise to dry me off. It's wretched to get wet and stay wet."
Still Sondo said nothing. Falco looked him up and down keenly. "Say, Sondo, are you all right? You didn't hit your head or anything, did you? You're awfully quiet."
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