I have yet another. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. She got pregnant.
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