The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Old London Bridge 1 13 28 34 42 51 63 EPOCH THE SECOND, 1715.
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