” “Six pounds. " "Well," said Sister Prudence, "remember, I tried to save you some future heartaches. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. The movement was fatal to her son. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. " "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin.
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