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Updated: July 29, 2025
Her employers had all been in excellent spirits lately, and she had never known them more cheerful and prosperous. She had fainted with horror upon entering the room in the morning and seeing that dreadful company round the table. She had, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morning air in, and had run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-lad for the doctor.
Jack March was a handsome, stalwart youth now, of irreproachable conduct, and with qualities which Mrs. Shaw particularly prized; but he was but a farm-lad, and no match for her daughter. Jack only saw his sweetheart once during several years She had not been well, and was at home for the benefit of "native air."
Thereafter he was silent. Johnstone and the farm-lad ran down the river-side. Truffey had started for the bridge again, having tied up his crutch with a string. Thomas remained kneeling, with his arms stretched out as stiff as the poles of a scaffold, and the joints of his clasped fingers buried in the roots of the grass.
"What do you reckon to do with it?" asked he, turning it over with his foot. "Bury it, of course," answered the farm-lad. "Don't folks sell dead animals in these parts?" asked Johannes when they were in the cart again. "Why, who could they sell them to?" answered Lars Peter. "The Lord preserve me, you're far behind the times.
So whenever he crossed a coast-guardsman, or even the most ignorant and harmless farm-lad, he shouted to him, "The Duke the Duke! What of the Duke? Have they killed the Duke?" To which Kennedy McClure of Supsorrow responded like an echo, "The horses the horses? What have they done to the horses? Have they killed my horses?" But the Duke of Lyonesse was not dead.
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