207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. E. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. Ah Coom. I’ve never had these crying fits before. . "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. ” “How much do you owe them?” She knew forty pounds was a quite impossible sum for their neighbors. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor.
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