"What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs. She cleaned everything, wiped every surface, mopped and scrubbed every last drop of blood. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. He's a cutie.
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