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.,
“‘You bet’ isn’t nice,” the child chid gently, and waited a moment before continuing. “My papa won’t let my mama work. He went to South America to get rich. When he comes back, he wrote in a letter to me, I shall be as rich as a princess.”,
“It’s been the best ever,” Jean said, happily..
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