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At this moment one of the pigeons—a small, pretty thing, bronze-tinged—flies to her, and, resting on her shoulder, makes a tender cooing sound, and picks at her cheek reproachfully, as though imploring more corn. "My mother is a real good sort when you know her," he says, evasively; "but she's rather rough on strangers. However, she is always all there, you know, so far as manners go, and that." "I think I like no poet half so well. You mistake me," replies he, ashamed of his own surprise at her preference for his lordship beneath the calm purity of her eyes. "But—only—it seemed to me Longfellow would be more suited to you.".
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Conrad
Alas! how soon will fall upon him that eternal sleep from which no man waketh! "I have a great mind to say something uncivil to you, if only to punish you for your coldness," says Geoffrey, lightly, cheered by her evident sincerity. "But I shall refrain, lest a second quarrel be the result, and I have endured so much during these past few hours that "You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is absolutely frozen with fear. "If you can say that again now, in cold blood, after so many hours of thought, you must be indeed heartless," says Rodney; "and"—standing up—"I may as well go.".
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