"No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other. Most unsatisfactory. It’s on the horse. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. Hill was seated.
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