” Capes let his oar smack on the water. It ought not to be much. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad.
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