"The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Now you will learn the result. His smile faded. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell.
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