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From the far-off wooded hills the haze that hangs like fine black crape at the back of a summer morning had not yet dissipated. The first man came to the stile. "Chock-chock!" went the gate under his thrust. "What, han' yer knocked off?" cried Mrs. Dakin. "We han, missis." "It's a pity as they letn yer goo," she said sarcastically. "It is that," replied the man.
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