As Susan, shaking in every limb, her torch shielded by her hand, crept into the passage leading to the museum, she paused. Oh, horrors! she thought, sniffing, I can smell those foul tumshies! They looked pretty when we popped back the wee lids, but jings, how they smell! At least, she added to herself a little nervously, at least I hope it's the tumshies and not some of our priceless exhibits in the museum!
From SUSAN'S TRYING TERM, Chapter 9, Jack-o'-Lanterns.
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