"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."
aviator india play store, "Why, they can't help it," explains he. "They are sent half the time."
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aviator india play store So in silence, but hand in hand, they move back through the dewy meads, meeting no one until they reach the little wooden gate that leads to her home..
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