“The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. John looked at his feet bashfully. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief.
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