It’s no good. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Don’t look so frightened. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. The twins weren’t far behind, they got put into the psych ward too. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark.
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