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He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. “I can’t endure it,” she said. ” To which the only possible reply seemed to be, “I’m not coming home. . Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury.
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