My poor son despairs of me, for I have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever they choose to visit. Instead of which they walked sharply. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now.
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