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Mrs. Wopp’s voice, a dramatic outburst before which almost any cloud would have quailed, filled the bedroom. Betty turned to Nell Gordon, “I hope all yer clouds’ll hev silver linin’s, Miss Gordon,” she smiled. “Here are more beads of wampum, Betty, as I have no garden.” Nell Gordon’s silver donation added appreciably to the weight of the collection box. “Not in the house; in this room, yes.”.
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Moses began cutting make-believe tickets using the paper and scissors thrust into his hand by the capable manageress of the show. The solid rock of the mountain had been cut away from the rear of the house to form a natural, paved court. At the top was a small chicken coop, its wall flush with the wall of rock; and near it grew an oak sapling not larger than Billy’s arm. Mrs. Wopp repeated the words, slowly rolling them on her tongue as though to extract every ounce possible of scriptural nutriment, “So they took up Joner and carst him forth inter the sea.” “Break it,—not now; when I tell you.”.
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