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Amid this varied throng,—varied in appearance, but alike in character,—one object alone, we have said, rivetted Mrs. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. I get the worst headaches.
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