You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. “I tell my Mom everything. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. “It is unimportant,” she said. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. Oh, it was very bad. ” “I am going to pack my bag,” Anna answered. Recovery impossible. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. So these two young philosophers got along very well that day; and the succeeding days.
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