Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. "Call as you please, beloved girl," he cried, "I will not stir till I am answered. I suspect he has been at work upon those he has on. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. Lucy sat beside him. I once saw a man die after collapsing that way.
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