These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father.
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