‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. We felt like thieves. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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