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" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. " "Be it so," replied Jack, putting up his blade. Now go. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. She appeared to be considering. ‘That is my mother. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time.
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