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What a shame, what a shame that he should be the poorest rider of all! On the way back he whipped Bob so that the horse finally ran, puffing, coughing, and stumbling along. It was not of course the sort of life he had pictured. That had been rather a vague idea of khaki-clad figures, perched with their instruments on perilous peaks and over yawning chasms; and a general idea of romance had run through his dreams. To be put into an office to do sums was little better than going to school. That his drawing board faced a window below which the job spread out, was a help, for while his mind mechanically did the figuring that was necessary, he could imagine himself out on the work mingling with the crowd. With thoughts agitated in fierce and agonizing conflict, he pursued his journey; and having lost all trace of Julia, sought only for an habitation which might shelter him from the night, and afford necessary refreshment for himself and his people. With this, however, there appeared little hope of meeting..
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Now he crept through the brush by the roadside till he came close under the west wall. The setting sun blazed red fire at him from the windows, reminding him sharply of the hour.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
“Miss Gordon, with all his book larnin’ he knowed no more ’bout black-jack than I know ’bout divin’ fer pearls, and the Bullock boys thort he was no good anyhow, ef he couldn’t beat their Par at cards. So one mornin’ they met him as he was goin’ to school, an’ they give him a good beatin’ up, then flung him in Rodd’s creek to cool him, bein’ winter. He crawled outer the creek, Miss Gordon, an’ never went to the school no more. It shorely was a jedgement on him fer playin’ those wicked card games. Moses, parse the ketchup.”
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Conrad
“Yes, we love our grand old Norway,” Johnny Blossom whistled again with great vigor. “Your father’s let you go?” “Five big ones and all of them bruised, so they are for us,” shouted Johnny Blossom; and the apples vanished inside his blouse. Then visions of pleasure shall float on our sight,.
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