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Half-way over she stopped and reminded him in a most apathetic manner: "P'haps me not stay marry to you for long." "Huh seven monse?" queried Jackrabbit in the same tone. "Six monse," came laconically from the woman. In nowise disconcerted by her answer, the Indian now asked: "You come soon?"
When they put 'im down in old Bow I didn't care no more for nothin'. Monse and monse I walked about night and day, and the bleedin' coppers was allus on to me. They got their own way at last. I took the pneumonier and was laid up at the London. And when I got out I didn't go back to the fact'ry neither." "What did you do?" I asked. The woman laughed bitterly, terribly. "Do? Don't you know?"
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