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I thought, in a fury. In my novel surroundings I was unnaturally ready to be irritated. "In the N office," I answered jerkily, with my eyes on my plate. "And ha-ave you a go-od berth? I say, what ma-a-de you leave your original job?" "What ma-a-de me was that I wanted to leave my original job," I drawled more than he, hardly able to control myself. Ferfitchkin went off into a guffaw.
The open-shutter slits emitted horizontal rods of light that fell in thin parallels across Dorothy's skirt. The street was silent save for a group on the steps of a house across the way, who, from time to time, raised their voices in a soft, bantering song. " When you wa-ake You shall ha-ave All the pretty little hawsiz "
/P "Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the gathering wa-ters roll. While the tempest sti-ill is high." /P "Other refuge ha-ave I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave ah! leave me no-ot alone, Still support and co-omfort me."
She could see the stiff, slender muscles straining in her mother's neck. The weak, plaintive voice tore at her heart. She knew that her mother's voice was weak and plaintive. Its thin, sweet notes unnerved her. "'Other refuge ha-ave I none: Hangs my helpless soul on Thee'" Helpless Helpless. Mamma was helpless. It was only her love of Mark and Jesus that was strong.
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