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“You’re George Rideout Smith’s kid, ain’t you?” A dull yellow glow from the kerosene lamp, placed by Moses on the bureau, lighted up the figure of Betty reclining on snowy pillows. On one side of her was seated Howard, his arm about the drowsy child. On the side of the bed, squarely seated on one of Mrs. Wopp’s texts worked into the patchwork quilt, was Nell, watching the little pallid face and trying to avoid the eyes of her silent lover. Mrs. Wopp’s eyes fell on the stained shawl..
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kez_ h (Kez_h)
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Conrad
“A cat tablecloth!” the little girl laughed. The chinking began in earnest. Moses stood, turning till each freckle on his ruddy face shone with honest sweat. “O, Dadsie,” was the reply, “this is recital afternoon, you know.” Gee! It was a scaly trick for a little girl, he thought; and felt sick. Would the plank bend too much? Slip? She was such a little thing—if only she could be a truly fairy for a minute!.
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