She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. It doesn’t seem to matter. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. Ownership seemed only a reasonable return for the cares and expenses of a daughter’s upbringing.
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This video was uploaded to ineel.net on 31-05-2024 00:13:24
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