“There never was a dearer or a blesseder young lady than is my young lady, Sir,” said Susan, […]
He shall to prison, and there die in boults.
When they are permitted to reach any height from which to look down, the terrible craving appears to be temporarily appeased; and they become kind, and even generous, to all who look up with willing, unwandering gaze.
I'm not hankering for the dramatic in life, but we had a run last night that would curl your hair.
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