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"What?" The deacon gripped the boy's arm and shook him. "What's that you say?" he questioned eagerly. He would lapse into silence, sucking his pipe, and watching Erie putting away the supper-dishes. September passed laden with summer perfumes and song and, beneath a blanket of hoar frost, October awoke to send her hazy heralds far across wooded upland and open. Slowly those wreathing mists kissed leaf and fern, as though whispering: "Rest sweetly, until spring brings you back once again.".
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Conrad
Billy felt his cheeks turn hot. "I might," he returned, "an' ag'in, I mightn't." "What next?" "Not quite. There, now you are facin' it." "That it does," agreed Mrs. Keeler, indignantly. "An' him, poor young man, helpless through loss of his eyesight and all. You heard, of course, that Frank Stanhope and Erie Landon had broke their engagement?".
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