I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. “Why not? It might amuse me. . His eyes were red. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better.
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