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After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation to add that dust and ashes are for ever scattered On Wilkins Micawber. Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to foresee that he might be expected to recover the blow; but my nights rest was sorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of the curates daughter, who was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and who was such a dear girl, and who would wait for Traddles (ominous praise!) until she was sixty, or any age that could be mentioned. |
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