I’ll marry a lass/ Who can stutch flax,/ Who can rett hemp/ Who’s not a wimp, he’d sing his lungs out. Busy or no, he’d pass by our house every day, until daddy went out to yell at him for singing about such stupid things, he even told the teacher to scold his son for this mischief. Alright, Anca, close your eyes and go to bed, the grandmother said, smiling. It’s not alright, tell me how grandpa …
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