You must tell me what it all means. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. ‘And so?’ she asked. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear.
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