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"It's a dear little boy," said the slender lady, who had a pale, kind face, dark eyes, and very red lips. "It'th a practical joke, I shuppothe," said the dark man. "Our gardening friend wanth a liththon: and I'll thee he getth it." "It wasn't his fault," said Dickie, wriggling earnestly in his high chair; "it was my fault. I fell asleep." The girls crowded round him with questions and caresses.
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