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Updated: May 4, 2025
She had put on her cloak to hide her dress, and its silk swished against the silvery blades of the wheat. What had moved her to put on this blue cloak? Blue of the sky, and flowers, of birds' wings, and the black-burning blue of the night! The hue of all holy things! And how still it was in the late gleam of the sun! Not one little sound of beast or bird or tree; not one bee humming!
"What would you wonder?" "I would wonder how muckle he paid." "But if he was a a minister, and keepit the flower say it was a common rose fond-like on his chimley, what would you think?" "I would think it was a black-burning disgrace for a minister to be fond o' flowers." "I dinna haud wi' that." "Jean," said Haggart, "I allow no one to contradict me." "It wasna my design.
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