"I beg pardon," he said. I’ll pay it. It throbs cruelly. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. " "Here it is," replied Edgeworth Bess.
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