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Updated: June 17, 2025
Angel looked round for Mrs Crick's black-puddings, which he had directed to be nicely grilled as they did them at the dairy, and of which he wished his father and mother to appreciate the marvellous herbal savours as highly as he did himself. "Ah! you are looking for the black-puddings, my dear boy," observed Clare's mother.
'N' ef ye do hate me, whut hev you been lookin' 'cross the river fer, 'n' a-shakin' yer bonnet at me, 'n' paddlin' to Gabe's fer yer grist, when the mill on Dead Crick's been a-runnin', 'n' I know it? You've been banterin' me, hev ye?" the blood rose to his eyes again. "Ye mustn't fool with me, gal, by , ye mustn't. Whut hev you been goin' over thar fer?"
Young Jasper nodded his head, and struck his horse into a gallop. The old man lighted his pipe, and turned back to the house. The girl, bonnet in hand, was starting for the valley. "Thar ain't no use goin' to Gabe Bunch's fer yer grist," he said. "The mill on Dead Crick's a-runnin' ag'in, 'n' I don't want ye over thar axin favors, specially jes now."
Crow, who had forgotten it; "But, dang it, he c'n swim, can't he?" "You say the bridge is gone?" asked the stranger, visibly excited. "Yes, and the crick's too high to ford, too." "Well, how in thunder am I to get to Crow's Cliff?" "There's another bridge four miles upstream. It's still there," said George Ray. Anderson Crow had scornfully washed his hands of the affair. "Confound the luck!
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