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Perhaps that was why the small fellow under her hands decided to appeal in his desperation to her. It was possible things were always possible that Ellen might know something of of step-ones. For Morry was battling with the pitifully unsatisfactory information Jolly had given him before understanding had conceived the kind little lie.
"That's all, thank you, I mean," came wearily, hopelessly, from the pillows. But Morry called the other back before he got over the threshold. There was another thing upon which he craved enlightenment. It might possibly help out. "Are they pretty, Jolly?" he asked, wistfully. "Are who what?" repeated the boy on the threshold, puzzled. Guilt and apprehension dull one's wits. "Step-ones, mothers."
With the fickleness of night-thoughts his musings flitted back to step-ones again. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine just the right kind of one, the kind a boy would be glad to have come home with his Dadsy. It looked an easy thing to do, but there were limitations. "If I'd ever had a real one, it would be easier," Morry thought wistfully. Of course, any amount easier!
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