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Date: Thu, 17 Apr 2014 11:02:33 -0400
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Subject: [doc-jp 121440] Boring backyard?  Turn it into a natural hummingbird playground
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<p style="margin: 17px; font: 10px Arial;">Can't read our Ad below due to no images? <a href="http://www.datazooms.biz/1c817b6fb2b418c362d450244102_09ed4f53-010102020001/C/"> Go ahead and
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<a target="" href="http://www.datazooms.biz/1c817b6fb2b418c362d450244102_09ed4f53-010102020001/C/" style=" font: 20px Verdana; margin: 18px auto;" > Boring backyard?  Turn it into a natural hummingbird playground </a>
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<p align="left">lights. “A Christmas tree,” he said, jerking his head  and  smiling. “That’s right,  old   man, ”  said  Jim,  
seeming  thoroughly sober now. “Come indoors and have </p>
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<p align="right" style="font: 9px;">a drink.” Aaron Sisson negatively  allowed  himself  to  be   led  off. The others followed in silence,
leaving   the  tree  to  flicker  the  night   through.     The </p>
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<p align="center">stranger stumbled at the open window -door. “Mind    the    step,   ”    said    Jim     affectionately. They crowded  to  the 
fire,   which  was  still   hot.   The </p>
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newcomer looked round vaguely. Jim took his bowler hat and gave him a chair.    He  sat  without looking round, a remote, abstract  look  on 
his  face.   He  was   very  pale,    and </p>
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seemed-inwardly absorbed. The party threw off their wraps and  sat  around.   Josephine turned to Aaron Sisson, who sat with a glhi of whiskey
in his hand,   rather  slack  in </p>
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his chair,  in his thickish overcoat. He did not want to  drink.   His  hair  was  blond, quite tidy, his mouth and chin handsome but a
  little  obstinate,   his  eyes  inscrutable. </p>
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<p>“My name’s Aaron Sisson,  if   it’s  anything  to  you, ”  he said. Jim began to grin. “It’s a name I don’t know,” he  said. 
 Then  he  named  all </p>
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the party present.  But  the stranger hardly heeded, though  his  eyes  looked   curiously from one to the other, slow, shrewd,
clairvoyant. </p>
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<p align="center" style="font: 14px;">“Were   you  on  your  way  home?”  asked   Robert,    <i>huffy. The  stranger  lifted  
his  head  and   looked    at     him. “Home!” he repeated. “No. The</i>other  road   —”  He  indicated </p>
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the direction with his head, and smiled faintly. “Beldover?” inquired Robert. “Yes.” He had dropped his head again, as if  he  did  not  want 
to   </p>
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look at them. to josephine, the  pale,    imphiive,   blank-seeming  face, the blue eyes with the smile which  wasn’t a smile, and  the 
continual  dropping  of  the </p>
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<p align="center" style="font: 11px;">well-shaped head was curiously affecting. She wanted to cry. “Are you  a  miner?”  Robert   asked,  
de  haute  en  bas  . “No,”  cried  Josephine.   She  had  looked  at  his  hands. </p>
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“Men’s  checkweighman,” replied Aaron.  He  had  emptied  his glhi. he put it  on the table. “Have another?” said Jim, who was
attending  fixedly,   with </p>
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<p align="left">curious absorption, to the stranger. “No,” cried Josephine, “no more.”  Aaron looked at Jim, then at her, and smiled 
slowly,   with remote bitterness. Then he </p>
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lowered his head again.   His  hands  were  loosely  clasped between his knees. “What about the wife?” said Robert — the  young  lieutenant. 
 </p>
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<p align="left">“What about the wife and  kiddies?  You’re  a  married  man, aren’t you?” The sardonic look of the stranger rested on  the 
subaltern. “Yes,” he said.   
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