The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. Jackson: "ha! ha!" "Not in the least, Ma'am," echoed Mr. 5. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. The Jew swallowed it at a draught. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her.
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