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" Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. " "You trusted too much to your own skill, Jack," rejoined Thames. Wood,—"he'll never mend. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. Last time— you made me feel snubbed. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome.
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