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"Why, Bartlett, how be you? What you doin' over here? Thought you'd gone back to Boston. I heard you had." Slowly, cautiously, the astonished quahauger rose from the sawhorse and peered over the window sill. There were two visitors in the shop. One was Ed Burns, proprietor of the Denboro Hotel and livery stable.
"What's the matter, Is?" inquired the grinning blacksmith. Most people grinned when they spoke to Issy. "Gittin' too hot outside there, was it? Why don't you tomahawk 'em and have 'em for supper?" "Humph!" grunted the offended quahauger. "Don't git gay now, Jake Larkin. You hurry up with that rake." "Oh, all right, Is. Don't sculp ME; I ain't done nothin'. What's the news over to East Harniss?"
"What you readin' now, Is?" he demanded. "More blood and brimstone? 'Vivy Ann, the Shop Girl! Gee! Wow!" "You gimme that book, Jake Larkin! Gimme it now!" Fending the frantic quahauger off with one mighty arm, the blacksmith proceeded to read aloud: "'Darlin', cried Lord Lyndhurst, strainin' the beautiful and blushin' maid to his manly bosom, 'you are mine at last. Mine!
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