207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. ‘It is not your affair. “But your sister,” he said. ” He paused, and went on, after a keen look at her: “I had rather gossip to a really intelligent girl than to any man alive. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them.
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