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Updated: May 3, 2025
Blight's fat hands reaching toward her. Mr. Blight smiled, and well he might, for this slip of a girl gazing up at him was of his own blood, and all that was good in that blood found expression in her sweetness.
"I said, sir," I answered my father, "that James just took the bottle and " "The bottle was Blight's, was it not?" broke in Mr. Pound. "Yes, sir," I said. It had dawned on me the afternoon before, as James and I rode home, just what was the medicine I had taken.
He's all right when he's sober, but when he's drunk well, over in Kentucky, they call him the Wild Dog." Several days later we started out through that same Gap. The glum stableman looked at the Blight's girths three times, and with my own eyes starting and my heart in my mouth, I saw her pass behind her sixteen-hand-high mule and give him a friendly tap on the rump as she went by.
There was nothing left for me there, but I had my work; I could go on weighing butter and counting eggs." Rufus Blight's voice was low and he spoke rapidly.
He could well afford to be generous. By every law of custom I had merited severe punishment at my father's hands, and that his hands were stayed by Mr. Blight's intercession was but another evidence of his power. When my father reasoned with me kindly, instead of whipping me, I yielded, not to his sophistry but to that masterful influence before which even he seemed to bend.
Rufus Blight's eyes opened wide. "How did you read my thoughts so well!" he exclaimed. "The conclusion was simple," said I. "Years ago I heard your brother say the same thing." "Oh! Well it does express the case exactly. Henderson was always a wonderful man for thinking, David. In his young days he was perfectly happy with a book.
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