Then the bewilderingness of the old starings of the solitary old man and old woman, by the cracked hearth-stone of the desolate old house, in the desolate, round, open space […]
“Wayment. Hold up.” Christophe stopped drawing. “What the hell, Nicco? That's not a book.” “And 'wayment' is a word?” questioned Ramsey, chuckling at Christophe's pronunciation of “wait a minute.”
I need y'all help for a minute.
“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks, and their clean white pinafores.
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