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Next year come fifteen hundred, an' in '45 twicet that many, an' so it has went, doublin, an' doublin'. Six or seven thousand whites go up the Platte this season, an' a right smart sprinklin' o' them'll git through to Oregon. Them 'at does'll carry plows. "Ma'am, if the brave that sunk a arrer in yore plow beam didn't kill yore plow hit warn't because he didn't want to.
COUNTY ATTORNEY: You mean that they didn't get on very well? MRS HALE: No, I don't mean anything. But I don't think a place'd be any cheerfuller for John Wright's being in it. COUNTY ATTORNEY: I'd like to talk more of that a little later. I want to get the lay of things upstairs now. SHERIFF: I suppose anything Mrs Peters does'll be all right.
Tryst set his cup down, stood up, and crossed his thick arms the swift movement from that stolid creature had in it something sinister; but he did not speak. "Do you like it, Bob?" "I'll not say what I feels, Mr. Derek; that's for me. What I does'll be for others, p'raps." And he lifted his strange, lowering eyes to Derek's.
"I'm anxious to get the lay of things upstairs now." He moved toward the stair door, followed by the two men. "I suppose anything Mrs. Peters does'll be all right?" the sheriff inquired. "She was to take in some clothes for her, you know and a few little things. We left in such a hurry yesterday."
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