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"Oh, Bessie, my poor girl, God knows I care!" the mother said. "But what can I say? It is done; what can I say?" "Say s-s-omething! Don't sit there!" Bessie sobbed. "Deda might sew up my glove, instead of s-s-sitting there." Deleah had already found needle and cotton. "Take your glove off, Bessie." Bessie tried to tear it from her hand. Her tears fell on the white kid. "It is tight.
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