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The table was set, the chop was cooked, everything was ready. Mrs. Morel put on her black apron. She was wearing her best dress. Then she sat, pretending to read. The minutes were a torture to her. "H'm!" said Morel. "It's an hour an' a ha'ef." "And those children waiting!" she said. "Th' train canna ha' come in yet," he said. "I tell you, on Christmas Eve they're HOURS wrong."
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