" Well knowing the savage temper of the person she had to deal with, and how likely he was to put his threat into execution, Mrs. “Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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