She located her foster family. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. But I've not promised to stand by him yet; nor will I, unless he turns out an honest lad,—mind that. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years.
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