"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. ’ ‘But it was not your fault,’ protested Gosse, shocked. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. “Vee,” she said, “come home.
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