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“But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. Then he threw the letter at me. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably.
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