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"Oh! Nicholas, it can't be true! it really can't!" she says, alluding to the news contained in a letter Sir Nicholas is reading with a puzzled brow. "Not until two?" says Mona, growing miserable again. "Let her thry," says old Brian, in his soft, Irish brogue, that comes kindly from his tongue. "She's mighty clever about most things.".
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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“O, Mar, jist a teeny-weeny brown crust, it carn’t hurt me.”I tried logging in using my phone number and I
was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't
get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call
me instead" option twice but didn't get a call
either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call
me instead fails.There was
“Did you see the fine bin of carrots, Mar?” inquired Betty.
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Conrad
"Put it on you," says Geoffrey. "Oh, fancy receiving the Boers whenever they call!" says Doatie, faintly, with a deep sigh that is almost a groan. The painters were told what to do long, long ago, "in about the second generation after the first people." "Lies! Oh, fie!" says Doatie. "Who tells lies? Nobody, except the naughty little boys in tracts, and they always break their legs off apple-trees, or else get drowned on a Sunday morning. Now, we are not drowned, and our legs are uninjured. No, a lie is a horrid thing,—so low, and in such wretched taste. But there are little social fibs that may be uttered,—little taradiddles,—that do no harm to anybody, and that nobody believes in, but all pretend to, just for the sake of politeness.".
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