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    Echoes

    by Lewis Carroll
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    Lady Clara Vere de Vere
    Was eight years old, she said:
    Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread.

    She took her little porringer:
    Of me she shall not win renown:
    For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her
    down.

    "Sisters and brothers, little Maid?
    There stands the Inspector at thy door:
    Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four."

    "Kind words are more than coronets,"
    She said, and wondering looked at me:
    "It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."
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