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also.
I went to her side.
An old gnarled hand fumbled its way on to my arm.
"Aye," she piped. "Aye. Tis as I thought. Your man also must lose ere he find. Together ye shall lose, and together gain. And ye shall comfort one another."
The tremulous voice ceased, and the hands slipped away.
I gave her money and Adèle thanked her prettily.
She cried a blessing upon us, I whistled to Nobby, and we strolled on....
"Look at that baby," said Adèle. "Isn't he cute?"
"Half a second," said I, turning and whistling. "Which baby?"
"There," said Adèle, pointing. "With the golden hair."
A half-naked sun-kissed child regarded us with a shy smile. It was impossible not to respond....
Again I turned and whistled.
"Where can he be?" said Adèle anxiously.
"Oh, he always turns up," I said. "But, if you don't mind going back a little way, it'll save time. With all this noise..."
We went back a little way. Then we went back a long way. Then we asked people if they had seen a little white dog with a black patch. Always the answer was in the negative. One man laughed and said something about "a dog in a fair," and Fear began to knock at my heart. I whistled until the muscles of my lips ached. Adèle wanted us to search separately, but I refused. It was not a place for her to wander alone. Feverishly we sought everywhere. Twice a white dog sent our hopes soaring, only to prove a stranger and dash them lower than before. Round and about and in and out among the booths and swings and merry-go-rounds we hastened, whistling, calling and inquiring in vain. Nobby was lost.
* * * * *
We had intended to be home in time for tea.
As it was, we got back to White Ladies, pale and dejected, at a quarter to eight.
As she rose to get out of the car, Adèle gave a cry and felt frantically about her neck and throat.
"What's the matter?" I cried.
"My pearls," she said simply. "Th