The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. Mrs. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. unless a copyright notice is included. "You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. If he keeps his word, I'll keep mine. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands.
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