” “Do you still love him?” “Just the opposite. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. ‘Exactly like my father. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. " "Aye, music hits them.
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