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An' doctor, 'e sat oop wi' 't tree nights roonin', 'e did. 'E didn' so mooch as taak 's cleathes off. Nad Alderson, 'e said, 'e'd navver seen anything like what doctor 'e doon for t' lil' thing." Mrs. Gale's face reddened and she sniffed. "'E's saaved Nad's baaby for 'm, right enoof, Dr. Rawcliffe 'as. But 'e's down wi't hissel, t' poastman says." It was at Gwenda that she gazed.
All alone in the room overhead she had evidently been doing something that had pleased her. The ghost of a smile still haunted her bleak face. She carried on her arm tenderly a pile of little garments. These she began to spread out on the table before Essy, having first removed the tea-things. "There!" she said. "'Tis the lil cleathes fer t' baaby.
He med tall ye 'oo was with yo laasst Soonda oop t' feald in t' girt byre." "Naddy couldn't sae 'oo 't was. Med a been Assy. Med a been yo." "'T wasn' mae, Mr. Greatorex, an' 't was n' Assy. Look yo 'ere. I tall yo Assy's freetened o' yo." "'Oo says she's freetened?" "I saays it. She's thot freetened thot she'd wash yore sweet'eart's dirty cleathes sooner 'n marry yo." "She doesn't wash them?"
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