" "That's what troubles me," rejoined Ben. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. Spurling's sooty imp, Caliban. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said. This was what he missed.
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