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We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. Now the baby’s bright May eyes peered up at her intently. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. But anything is better than this.
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