“Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. ” She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry.
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