"No, no, Sir," replied Ireton. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. The girl’s eyes never left his face. Then he threw the letter at me. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. But when they were on their way out he whispered in Anna’s ear.
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