” She closed her mouth. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. "Well, my dear, I've a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable. . “I’m not gentle. \" Now it was Michelle’s turn to laugh. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. Always remember that. ” She patted his arm and wiped her tears away. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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