And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. “Dear me!” he said. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. ” She massaged him. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks.
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