"My enemy," replied her son. ” There came a silence again. Why?" "I was just wondering. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house.
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