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while others may be thinking of cruel unloving wives who wait their return to demand money perhaps, which they have earned by hard work.  But happy are those who think of the loving wife who waits their return with impatience, and runs to meet them with a smile and kiss, and sit down with them to a simple but dainty meal.  Those who thinks of these things I imaged to be the most occupied in

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thought, yet with a happy look on their faces, and a sort of spring in their walk.  It made me think of the poem by Bryant called The Crowded Street.  One verse runs like this

How fast the flitting figures come

The [[strikethrough]] harsh [[/strikethrough]] ^[[mild]], the [[strikethrough]] [[col?]] [[/strikethrough]] ^[[fierce]], the stony face

Some [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]] bright with [[strikethrough]] [[?]] [[/strikethrough]]^[[thoughtless smiles & some]]

[[strikethrough]] And some W[[/strikethrough]] ^[[w]]here secret tears have left their trace.

All the poem is lovely I think, so true, but it never struck  me as being so noticeble until this day in
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