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Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all she had to propose to him until to-morrow. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. “Well?” she said. “You need a reason. " And he looked at the moment as if he had lost all desire to know it. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice.
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