He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me. I must apologize for my young puppy of a clerk. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. One who—who—tres. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears.
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