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“That ole bantam has shore got some speeditood,” reflected Moses, in gasps, as he made several futile plunges for Tillie. She put back his tumbled hair, looked long into his eyes, realizing with a shock that she was looking up. Her little boy was gone. “Miss Gordon done it, I know,” whispered Betty, clasping and unclasping her hands, “she’s not a school-teacher at orl, she’s jist a fairy growed up, an’ Mar’s a fairy godmother!”.
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Conrad
“Anything else you can do better than a girl?” she jeered, good-naturedly. The young dancers in the hall found the change of music decidedly exhilarating, as an occasional whoop testified. He went on, a little cautiously now, and shortly came in view of the “Ha’nt,” a sinister though imposing house, built of cut stone, close against the face of the most picturesque mountain of the range, bounding Vina Valley. The windows were curtained with cobwebs and dust. For years the wide front door had been nailed up with the same sun-bleached boards; and “Keep out!” spoke from every gray splinter. The dutiful husband drew from his pocket a long slip of paper and a small stubby pencil. Having a poor memory, he had formed the habit of making a note of everything his wife suggested, so that he could fulfill her wishes in future. The notes were plentiful, but they failed in some unaccountable way to prod his memory..
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