"Is it you?" "It is," replied her son, "Oh! why would you not listen to me?" "I was distracted," replied Mrs. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise.
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