She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. “I hope you’re satisfied. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression.
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