" "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. ‘Thanks to him, Hilary and I nearly had our heads blown off. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain.
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