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Was it the air again, or was it the new consciousness that I was developing into a beloved and coveted beau? I stepped into the cottage through the low window, as I often did. At the same moment the cover of the wood-box flew up, and I beheld the rosy, good-natured visage of Miss Pray's orphan girl looking out: she put her finger on her lip. "Sh!" "What is it?" I said. She pointed upward.
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