"Shall ve go back to de other room?" asked the Jew. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. "Now stand before me, Poll. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. The truth at once flashed across his mind. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart.
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