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Here Mrs. Wopp related for the hundredth time the account of the ketchup disaster. “I sorter hoped Moses’d take arter Uncle Josh, too,” she said, regretfully. “Mosey, ef I darn yer socks fer a month would you let me hev’ two bits?”.
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“Whoa, Josh! Whoa, Jake!” he roared, apparently exerting himself to the utmost to hold in the skittish pair, but in reality giving a few practised touches on the reins which defeated his commands. “Mosey, ef I darn yer socks fer a month would you let me hev’ two bits?” A loud whisper from Pete Stolway disturbed the orator. “Yeh, we went to the shootin’ gallery, an’ the amuseum, an’ got inter a little square cage an’ shot away up to the top of an orful high buildin’ an’ got a sparrer’s eye view of the city.”.
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