You. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. He smiled inwardly. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. Nothing ensued. Dinner was served at 5:30. It’s not you—not a bit.
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