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Advertising : 391 wordsThere is no dainty, precious thing I see, No gracious sound that ever fills mine ear, But in my heart calls up some dream of thee, Some look, some smile, and seems to bring thee ...
Article : 296 wordsJohn Marchmont had been dead nearly three years. Mary’s humble friend, the farmer’s daughter, had married a young tradesman in the village of Kemberling, a mile and a half ...
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