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Gurney was here, and she taid she ood div me a foochoo in a petty 'ittle pot, and dat den I ood have my own fowers, and tood water and tend 'em all myself." "Oh, it is a fuchsia that she is to give you!
"Jesus!" said Sara, triumphantly nodding her head and opening her eyes very wide. "Jesus makes all ve bunnies, and all ve vitty dickey birds, and all ve vitty fowers, and all ve big fowers and all ve ponge cakes, and Yaya." "And what is Sara going to do with her bunny?" I asked. "Vuv it," she said with ecstasy. "Shall I leave her?" asked Nannie. "What a foolish question, Nannie!" I said.
But Hippolyta was a person evidently accustomed to have her own way, and she ran straight up to Josey Letherbarrow as though he were the one choice hero picked out of a world. "Zozey!" she screamed, stretching out a pair of short, mottled arms; "My own bootiful Zozey-posey! Tum and pick fowers!" With an ecstatic shriek at nothing in particular, she caught the edge of the old man's smock.
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