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Every morning during the summer a bunch of morning-glories, wet with dew, adorned the breakfast table. Blue and pink and white, they seemed the very spirit of morning freshness and sweetness. At this juncture there was a knock at the door. It was Howard Eliot who had called for Nell. “Of course they won’t be too tired! The kids have pluck.”.
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Conrad
Suddenly, all heads were raised and a sigh of satisfaction escaped Mrs. Wopp’s lips. The cheerful clatter of knives and forks against Mrs. Wopp’s best blue willow plates was a gentle accompaniment to the ripple of laughing apology that Nell offered to the victim. Any constraint that might have been felt hitherto among the circle, decreased perceptibly as the rancher wiped the sweet syrupy drops from his face. “That man Zalhambone’s playin’ rasped all up an’ down my spine,” she criticized. Then harking back to thrills she really had felt despite her prejudice, she admitted grudgingly, “My, but his han’s did fly over them keys permiscuous-like.” Clank! Clank! Clank!.
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