It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks. ToC During the whole of the next day and night, the poor widow hovered like a ghost about the precincts of the debtors' garrison,—for admission (by the Master's express orders,) was denied her. The Ragged Edge. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain.
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