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" "I've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed Sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. “These are for you. The chance it is the same for both. "You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian.
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