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Updated: July 17, 2025
She ought to be locked up until she could be sent to the asylum!" exclaimed old Marwig. "I have no power to do so, my friend," replied the manager. "Why, where is she?" inquired Mrs. Bounce, trembling. "Who saw her go?" No one answered, but every one looked around. Not a trace of the witch could be seen. She had passed like a dark cloud from among them, and was gone.
To be married to-day and to be inaugurated to-morrow, and he only thirty-two years old this blessed seventh of June!" The speaker, a hale man of sixty years, with a bald head, a sharp face, a ruddy complexion, and a figure as twisted as a yew tree, and about as tough, was Silas Marwig, one of the foremen of the foundry.
As the beldame repeated and emphasized these words, she raised her hand with a prophetic gesture and advanced upon the group of pedestrians. "Now, then, you old crow! What are you up to with your croaking?" demanded Mr. Marwig. "Look here, Mistress Beelzebub!
These seemed to come in a slow procession. "Only the nearest relations and most intimate friends of the family are invited to the ceremony. There have only been five carriages passed since we have been sitting here, and I don't believe there was one come before we came, or that there'll be another come after that last one, which was certainly the groom's," said Old Marwig. "Oh! was it, indeed?
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