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THE STORY OF A MOTHER
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"I have no business there," said the old woman; "but you can give me your long black hair. You know yourself that it is beautiful, and it pleases me. You can take my white locks in exchange, and that would be something."
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AND DEATH STRETCHED OUT HIS HAND TOWARDS THE LITTLE DELICATE FLOWER.
"Is that all you ask?" said she. "I will give it you with pleasure." And she gave her fine hair in exchange for the old woman's snow-white locks.
