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Now, run away and be good; when everything is ready mamma'll call you." "But we want it now. Doctor Jackson don't know everything. It's only God that knows everything," said Fred, with unanswerable argument. "Come away, Fred," whispered Mabel, giving him an impatient twitch. "It's so, anyway; mamma told me about God just the other night." "He knows I want some ginger 'naps," whimpered Jem.
There, in a fat, rose-coloured chair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone. Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, started up, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said the first thing that occurred to her: "I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel." "Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home.
Why, darlink, mamma'll sell her clothes off her back to get you a violin. He's a musician, Abrahm! I should have known it the way he's fooling always around the chimes and the bells in the store!" Then Mrs. Kantor took to rocking his head between her palms. "Oi oi! The mother is crazier as her son. A moosican! A Fresser you mean.
For the love of Mike, sh-h-h! or mamma'll spank." The twin fluttered up then, a vivid italicized prototype, on slim tall heels that clicked and a very small red hat set just at the angle of sauciness.
And down in some queer slum place, too! If I get into a scrape you'll have to promise to help me out, or mamma'll never let me free from a chaperon again. And I had to make Artley Guelpin, and Turner Bailey sore, too, by telling them I was sick and they couldn't come and try over those new dance-steps to-night as I'd promised.
Phinny started off on the instant with such energy and goodwill to her errand, that in a few minutes the burst of a waltz air in the immediate neighbourhood of the parties requiring it, said that Miss Josephine had been successful. And she said it herself. 'There! she exclaimed; 'we've got it. Mamma'll never care, if she hears, nor know, if she sees. Come! Here are enough of us.
Maybe it's with the junk behind the store. I never thought of that fiddle. Leon darlink wait! Mamma'll run down and look. Wait, Leon, till mamma finds you a fiddle." The raucous screams stopped then, suddenly, and on their very lustiest crest, leaving an echoing gash across silence. On willing feet of haste Mrs. Kantor wound down backward the high, ladder-like staircase that led to the brass-shop.
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