The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. . It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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