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Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. " So there was always plenty of mail. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. "I warn you, if you do not send for a doctor immediately, you will have cause to regret it," Ruth declared vigorously.
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