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The wayward moods shown in these letters sometimes found other expression. In those days her wit was wayward too: its arrows were always winged, and sometimes over-sharp. In later life, when Boston and everything connected with it was unspeakably dear to her, she would not recall the day when, passing on Charles Street the Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary, she read the name aloud and exclaimed, “Oh! I did not know there was a charitable eye or ear in Boston!” Or that other day, when having dined with the Ticknors, a family of monumental dignity, she said to a
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