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“All this turnin’ is good for the liver too you know,” she continued, as her son’s vinegary expression remained unaltered. “No, we won’t!” came a dozen voices. “I guess ours’ll be a grown-up chap; but I wish he’d be a boy my size. How do you guess poor old San Francisco looks to-day?”.
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Conrad
Miss Gordon complied, then followed the old favorite with a two-step played in as sprightly a manner as the organ would allow. A period of silence followed excepting for the slight sounds made by the workers, the drowsy humming of flies, the murmur of an occasional bee and the faint rustlings of the tall stalks of corn. “Do you live here?” she questioned with an irrepressible shudder. The Sheriff wondered at the boy’s vehemence, yet was too busy loading the wagon to pay much attention to him. “Think you’re fit, sonny? You look all in. Better ride to town—we’ll send some one for the little girl.”.
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