"You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ” “Excuse me,” Mr. It is you who took my name, not I yours.
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