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Updated: June 29, 2025
The carrier-boy can only say further that early this morning she filled his basket with New Year's addresses, assuring him that the whole city, with our new mayor and the aldermen and common council at its head, would make a general rush to secure copies. Kind patrons, will not you redeem the pledge of the New Year?
If the press is left to run itself even for a day, some absurd person indignantly orders the carrier-boy to stop bringing "that infernal paper. There's nothing in it. I won't have it in the house!" The elegant Mantalini, reduced to mangle-turning, described his life as "a dem'd horrid grind." A time when he will be appreciated. When he will have a front seat.
"He has just gone out to wait for the carrier-boy. He's coming now, I think." Henry came in with the morning papers. "What do they say?" Witherspoon eagerly asked. He flounced up, and drawing the covers about him, sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll see," Henry answered. "But be quick about it. Great goodness, I can't wait all day." "There's so much that I can't tell it in a breath."
Here the conversation ceased, and Uncle Venner went on his way. For half an hour longer, nothing disturbed the repose of the Seven Gables; nor was there any visitor, except a carrier-boy, who, as he passed the front doorstep, threw down one of his newspapers; for Hepzibah, of late, had regularly taken it in.
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