So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. 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. The children made us slaves, and the men took advantage of it. Just by walking in you can tell if it is a good house or a bad house.
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