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O sure! I hope not, sir.

You're a sly gipsy, Dolly. But you think of me sometimes then, eh? (Pinching her ear and patting her cheek.)

Amaryllis! Amaryllis! are you at home, Amaryllis? I heard you were at home, so I made bold to enter. What, writing so composedly after all this devil of a noise?

Yes, I believe the cat has been playing her gambols amongst my books.

It may have been the cat, to be sure, for those creatures have witchcraft about them, and can do many wonderful things o' winter nights, as