” She said. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks.
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