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54 LETTERS
And little roving breezes come rustling through
the door; We open up the letters of friends across the
foam, And thoughts go back to London, again we
dream of London— We see the lights of London, of London and of
home.
We've parcels small and parcels of a quite
gigantic size, We've Devon cream and butter and apples
baked in pies, We'll make a night of feasting and all will have
their fill-See, cot-mate Bill has dainties, such dandy,
dinky dainties, |
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