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a web of many textures

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Isaac, what is the matter?” said Mrs. Partington,
in the morning, as Ike bounded into the room, jumped
over a table, kicked down a chair, and concluded with
turning a somerset, by which operation he succeeded
in knocking two plates from the dresser. “What ails
you? Are you possessed, or what? Such abolitions
of feelings are not pretty.” There was a severity
in her tone, and she stood looking at the boy through
her spectacles, as a pair of Lutheran windows might


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look down on a Bantam chicken. Ike stopped as
she spoke, but looked up roguishly in her face, while
he replied, “Did n't you tell me to take my brimstone
and molasses three mornings, and then skip
three? This is the first morning to skip, and I 'm a
doing of it.” The dame smiled slightly, as she replied,
“You must be more apprehensive in going through the
world, or you may get apprehended, my dear. It would
make you too sulfurious to take your spring medicine
every morning, so I thought you might pass over three
mornings.” — “Should n't I be a Jew,” said Ike, feeling
the shape of his nose, “to passover three mornings?”
Mrs. Partington, whether she was aware of the atrocity
or not, said nothing further, and Ike and Lion went out
for a roll on the grass.