1 Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I'm not teasing you.
2 Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
3 Finally he strode home reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.
4 He sought Ben Rogers, and found him visiting the poor with a basket of tracts.
5 And God forgive me, I cracked Tom's head with my thimble, poor boy, poor dead boy.
6 The poor fellow's face was haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him.
7 A new-comer of any age or either sex was an im-pressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg.
8 And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in wealth.
9 They made him understand that his poor rags would do to begin with, though it was customary for wealthy pirates to start with a proper wardrobe.
10 He had thought he loved her to distraction; he had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor little evanescent partiality.
11 Tom stood a moment, to gather his dismembered faculties; and when he stepped forward to go to his punishment the surprise, the gratitude, the adoration that shone upon him out of poor Becky's eyes seemed pay enough for a hundred floggings.
12 Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes.
13 And when he had finished and still stood alive and whole, their wavering impulse to break their oath and save the poor betrayed prisoner's life faded and vanished away, for plainly this miscreant had sold himself to Satan and it would be fatal to meddle with the property of such a power as that.
14 The discourse was resumed presently, but it went lame and halting, all possibility of impressiveness being at an end; for even the gravest sentiments were constantly being received with a smothered burst of unholy mirth, under cover of some remote pew-back, as if the poor parson had said a rarely facetious thing.
15 His mother had whipped him for drinking some cream which he had never tasted and knew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired of him and wished him to go; if she felt that way, there was nothing for him to do but succumb; he hoped she would be happy, and never regret having driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world to suffer and die.
16 As the service proceeded, the clergyman drew such pictures of the graces, the winning ways, and the rare promise of the lost lads that every soul there, thinking he recognized these pictures, felt a pang in remembering that he had persistently blinded himself to them always before, and had as persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor boys.
17 Here was a gorgeous triumph; they were missed; they were mourned; hearts were breaking on their account; tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to these poor lost lads were rising up, and unavailing regrets and remorse were being indulged; and best of all, the departed were the talk of the whole town, and the envy of all the boys, as far as this dazzling notoriety was concerned.
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