Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. " "Didn't the natives have a name for you?" She blushed. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect.
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