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Chapter 42 No.42

When was old Sherwood's head more quaintly curled?

Or looked the earth more green upon the world?

Or nature's cradle more enchased and purled?

When did the air so smile, the wind so chime,

As quiristers of season, and the prime?

BEN JONSON.

Miss Haye, however, had never sent her fingers over the keys with more energy, than now her

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