Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him.
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