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She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. "What has caused this quarrel, Thames?" asked the little girl, anxiously. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. She hated living like that. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. " "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment.
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