No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed.
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