She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. "Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham. The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood.
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