Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. “I always shall. No doubt there’s some little mistake. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures.
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