The story struck the depressingly familiar note with which true stories ring in the tried ears of experienced policemen. No one queried it. It was in the classic pattern of human weakness, mean and embarrassing and sad.
Bathed and changed, she rootled out Lambie from the bottom of her wardrobe.'
After so many years in the same field, the job had lost its luster.
I ſowed on this Ground, without any Dung or Manure, a Lippy of Oats, from which I had a Boll wanting a Chopin.
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