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"No doubt it'th a grai-ait pity!" and he wagged his head from side to side, the picture of a poignant woe. "I saw him in the Black Bull yestreen," said Brodie, who had been silent hitherto in utter scorn of the lad they were speaking of too disgusted to open his mouth. "He was standing drinks to a crowd that were puffing him up about that prize o' his."
Now, it would be easy to lead that water down and alang through all the gardenth on the high side of Main Street and, 'deed, it might feed a pump at the Cross, too, to supply the lower portionth o' the town. It would really be a grai-ait convenience. Every man on the high side o' Main Street would have a running spout at his own back door! If your garden didna run tho far back, Mr.
They mind me o' last year's early tatties. They're grand when they're gude, but the feck o' them's frostit." "Ay," said the Deacon, "and young Gourlay's frostit in the shaw already. I doubt it'll be a poor ingathering." "Weel, weel," said Tam Wylie, "the mair's the pity o' that, Deacon." "Oh, it'th a grai-ait pity," said the Deacon, and he bowed his body solemnly with outspread hands.
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