There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. It seems he does not inherit the title. "Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you!" "Make me!" echoed Mrs. "You forget that you promised me a kiss the last time you were here.
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