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'I'll tell yo' what it is, owd lass. I shornd hev to leave yo' agen, and his arm stole round the little neck, and he drew the sorrowful face to his own, and kissed it. 'But tell yor owd mon what's up wi yo'. 'Ne'er mind naa, Matt; I'll tell thee sometime, sobbed the wife. 'But I mun know naa, lass, or there'll be th' hangments to play.
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