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Cross- stitch? Miss Brawne,
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I don't even know what that means.
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Baiting, baiting.
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I feel the same about your poems, Mr. Brown.
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I know nothing of what they mean.
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They puff smoke, dissolve, leaving nothing but irritation.
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Fanny, take this tea to Mr. Keats. He is in very poor spirits.
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Mr. Keats is composing and does not want disturbing.
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It's my finding in the business of disturbing, you're the expert.
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Fanny, why not speak to one of us you hold in higher favor?
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I'm praising him!
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- Fanny. - Please, Fanny.