” “Don’t use such a word, my dear young lady,” Mr. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest.
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