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“Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. "The poor young man!" she said. The bliss had lasted one hundred and forty years, far more than an entire mortal lifetime. Come with me, Langley, and bring the lantern. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. “You have the temperament,” he said. This is my friend, Mr. I am always reinventing myself with new styles.
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