I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. You would not have believed me, I know well. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. “I cannot part with you. "Come along, my sly shaver. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. But at the word “home” she turned again.
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