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It is all settled at last, and in anOther week I shall have left Thrush Hill. I am a little bit sorry and a great bit glad. I am going to Montreal to spend The winter with Alicia. Alicia -- it used to be plain Alice when she lived at Thrush Hill and made her own dresses and trimmed her own hats -- is my half-sister. She is eight years older than I am. We are both orphans, and Aunt Elizabeth brought us up here at Thrush Hill, The most delightful old country place in The world, half smOthered in big willows and poplars, every one of which I have climbed in The early tomboy days of gingham pinafores and sun-bonnets. When Alicia was eighteen she married Roger Gresham, a man of forty. The world said that she married him for his money. I dare say she did. Alicia was tired of poverty. I don't blame her. Very likely I shall do The same thing one of These days, if I get The chance -- for I too am tired of poverty.
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