He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. He gently took the roses from her and laid them on the pillow. (“Good job. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. ‘You are there. It’s horrible to think of you!” “You’re an awful brick, Teddy!” she said. God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. —Strype's Stow.
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