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Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Over these hung levels, bevels, squares, and other instruments of measurement. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father. 176 “No, it’s very good.
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