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" "Jack, my love," cried Mrs. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She loved to be told to do things. There was a girlfriend who was mentally ill. Let—it—fall.
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