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And Boleskey, murmuring, "She must drink to our country," went out to summon her, Margit followed him, while Swithin cut up a chicken. They came back without her. She had "a megrim of the spirit." Swithin's face fell. "Look here!" he said, "I'll go and try. Don't wait for me." "Yes," answered Boleskey, sinking mournfully into a chair; "try, brother, try-by all means, try."
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