She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. My address is 94, Pall Mall.
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