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After that the day was one blur of steam, dust, heat, and stifling fumes from the oven and the fat-kettle, broken always at regular intervals by meal-getting and chicken-feeding. What mattered the blue of the heavens or the green of the earth outside? To Hephzibah the one was "sky" and the other "grass." What mattered the sheen of silver on the emerald velvet of the valley far below?
My dear, you don't half appreciate what it is to have such air to breathe. Only think, if you were shut up in a brick house on a narrow street as I am!" "Think!" retorted Kate, with sudden heat. "I 'd like to do something besides 'think'! I 'd like to try it!" "You mean you'd like to leave here? to go to the city?" "I do, certainly. Aunt Ellen, I'm simply sick of chicken-feeding and meal-getting.
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