“I have been amusing myself up to now by trying to earn my living,” she replied. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. "Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. He declined to come in. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. But she must not laugh.
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