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“Three you should say. Don’t you live in the dreamland of music? Eat your own breakfast, or you’ll be late for the train.” “Moses!” called husband and wife, simultaneously. Mrs. Wopp’s voice spanned an interval of about a dozen semi-tones, and as it always grew in volume in direct ratio to the emergency of the duty to be imposed, the last syllable of her son’s name fell on that wretched boy’s ear like a clap of thunder. Mr. Wopp’s accents remained on nearly all occasions at the same even degree of meekness. Nature had not given him the temperament to indulge in crescendos or double fortes. Here his laughter became a series of concussions decidedly menacing to his well-being..
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Conrad
Betty staggered with her burden out into the garden to leave with her flowers the benediction of her presence and also to crave a few small favors for herself. Billy looked at her wonderingly for an instant. “You guess everything that troubles a fellow, don’t you? How do you do it?” He sighed deeply. Full of her thought she slipped from the couch, and went to the kitchen. “Mrs. Bennett, haven’t you some work a little girl could do?” “Ef you wish it, Ebenezer,” responded his spouse though still somewhat absorbed in the frustrated hopes of her relative, “jist wait till I drawr up the blinds.”.
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