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“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. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. ” The idea struck him as novel. “About two years ago. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast.
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