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Updated: May 19, 2025
I winna lay a finger upo' 't. Lay't by till ye want it yersel'." "Dinna ye ken somebody that wants't mair nor me, Thomas?" Now Thomas had just been reading a few words spoken, according to Matthew, the tax-gatherer, by the King of Men, declaring the perfection of God to consist in his giving good things to all alike, whether they love him or not.
"Lay't doon o' the table, an' rin." "Na, na, Curly; I cudna do that. Puir little crater!" "Is the beastie heavy?" asked Curly, with deceitful interest. "Dreadfu'." "Lat's try." "Ye'll lat her fa'." "Deed no. Gie's a haud o' her." Annie yielded her charge; but no sooner had Curly possession of the baby, than he bounded away with her out of the garden into the back yard adjoining the house.
It would bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy them in that way. But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not stop his singing. 'Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen This is worth the siftin'; Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen There's the match, and lay't in. Nineteen, twenty Goblins in a plenty. 'Do be quiet, cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek.
We'll jist lay't upo' the room-table, an' we'll hae worship oot o' 't whan ony body's wi' 's, ye ken." "I want it mysel'," objected Annie, in dismay, for although she did not think of the money at the moment, she had better reasons for not liking to part with the book. "Ye can hae't when ye want it. That's eneuch, surely."
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