" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ” He stood before the door. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know.
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