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Book, page 51 / 221 goin' away--don't 'owl--I'm goin' off to Kasauli, where I won't see you no more." I could hear him holding Garm's nose as the dog threw it up to the stars. "You'll stay here an' be'ave, an'--an' I'll go away an' try to be'ave, an' I don't know 'ow to leave you. I don't know--" "I think this is damn silly," said the officer, patting his foolish fubsy old retriever. He called to the private, who leaped to his feet, marched forward, and saluted. "You here?" said the officer, turning away his head. "Yes, sir, but I'm just goin' back." "I shall be leaving here at eleven in my cart. You come with me. I can't have sick men running about fall over the place. Report yourself at eleven, here." We did not say much when we went indoors, but the officer muttered and pulled his retriever's ears. He was a disgraceful, overfed doormat of a dog; and when he waddled off to my cookhouse to be fed, I had a brilliant idea. At eleven o'clock that officer's dog was nowhere to be found, and you never heard such a fuss as his owner made. He called and shouted and grew angry, and hunted through my garden for half an hour. Then I said: "He's sure to turn up in the morning. Send a man in by rail, and I'll find the beast and return him." "Beast?" said the officer. "I value that dog considerably more than I value any man I know. It's all very fine for you to talk--your dog's here."
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