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They turned into the town’s finest hotel, just opened. 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. “This here dorg is clean tuckered out,” she declared, “ef he swallered a green pea, you’d see it goin’ down orl the way.” “O mother, how can there be joy if life is all work and never any fun?” He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek..