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Updated: June 24, 2025
Now, trust in anyone is a most precious thing, more precious a great deal than Miss Barnicroft's money, and much harder to give back when it is once lost. The money you will return to-morrow; but how are you going to restore my trust? That is not to be done in a moment.
Rumborough Common looked coldly desolate as ever, and as they passed the Camp and saw the very hole where the crock had been buried an idea struck David. "Mightn't we put it where we got it, and tell her it's there?" he asked. But the vicar would not hear of this. "You must give it back into Miss Barnicroft's own hands," he answered, "and tell her how you came to dig it up.
It was truly dreadful to Ambrose to hear his father talk in that calm soothing tone, and to imagine how he would feel if he knew that his own son Ambrose had taken Miss Barnicroft's money, and that the hateful little crock of gold was at that very moment lying quite near him in David's garden. His heart beat so fast that the sound of it seemed to fill the room. Would Miss Barnicroft never go away?
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