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"I knew him at once. She held up the lamp. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. I’m a little tired. " So saying, he closed the door.
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