I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. "And now, Mrs. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room. No! That was impossible. "I tell you what, Mr. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. “And we will sail that splendor wide, From day to day together, From isle to isle of happiness Through year’s of God’s own weather. ” His fingers touched hers for a moment under the ledge of the box.
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