" "Heaven have compassion on you, Rowland!" murmured his sister, crossing her hands and looking upwards; "you have none on me. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. ” “Not exactly,” he answered nervously. "How sweet these roses are! Shall I put them into water?" "Put them where they came from," replied Mrs.
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