‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. "Won't you be persuaded, Joan?" he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. We LIKED each other well enough.
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