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"Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. " "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. “Well?” “I don’t care a rap for all these things. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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