What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. “I don’t want children, Lucy. But at the word “home” she turned again. There is worse to come. It was for ever. . She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.
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