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I felt so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful; and I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die.
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English |
| Submitted by: |
dev_rec
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This text has been typed
more than
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(book)
by Mark Twain