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All children, except one, grow up.
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In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.
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The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.
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In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon.
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Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister
on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had
peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no
pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book,"
thought Alice "without pictures or conversation?"
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When Mrs. Frederick C. Little's second son arrived, everybody noticed that he was not much
bigger than a mouse.
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This is George. He lived in Africa.
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Chug, chug, chug. Puff, puff, puff. Ding-dong, ding-dong
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Mr. and Mrs. Mallard were looking for a place to live.
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Most motorcars are conglomerations (this is a long word for bundles) of steel and wire and rubber and plastic,
and electricity and oil and gasoline and water, and the toffee papers you pushed down the crack in the back seat
last Sunday.
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It was seven o'clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up
from his day's rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to
get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips.
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