My goodness gracious. Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. There's our young friend upstairs. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. I require nothing, you see, till my share of the contract is fulfilled. I just want him, and no one else will do. " And, as if to make the moral more obvious, a dirty pack of cards was scattered, underneath, upon the sawdust.
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