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“But couldn’t another pair have been born in Siam?” May Nell questioned; and as no one felt sufficiently informed to deny it, Harry and Clarence continued their strained relations. The strains of “Red Wing” having died away, Mrs. Wopp busied herself setting up the crokinole board. “Me and Par won’t play, jist the young folks,” she announced. “Yes, I seen them an’ smelt them, too; they shore ’d delight the heart of an Eskermo, Betty.”.
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Conrad
“What’s the trouble, dear? What were you afraid of?” she enquired, as she raised him to his feet. The Wopp parlor was seldom entered, except on very special occasions or when Mrs. Wopp with formality and no undue haste dusted the furniture. The room had an air of solemnity and gloom, absent in the cheerful dining-room where the family usually sat. A homemade rag carpet covered the floor. Six slippery, horsehair chairs, one of them a rocker, and a horsehair couch, which did not invite confidence, were ranged stiffly around the sides of the room. In one corner was an ancient organ, wheezy and querulous with neglect, and in another stood a lofty what-not, on whose numerous shelves were deposited the family treasures. Here, was a woolly lamb at one time beloved of Moses; there his tin savings bank. Stiffly upright stood Betty’s wax doll Hannah, seldom played with and then only for a few minutes at a time. Mrs. Wopp was represented by a few shell boxes and a match box of china flanked by a sleek china cat. “We’re seven,” came the echo. Confusion followed. Harry was struck with a great fear. Was she dead? He had never seen a girl do so before. Would they hang him?.
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