“I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. She leaves town to-morrow. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield.
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