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“What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. She was frightfully hungry. I suppose I believe in God. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. "I must have dropped it when I took out my note-book. Very glad.
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