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There had been no hint of it before Ches Maybin's entrance. The latter did not wait long. He was out and striding along the shadowy road when Miss Calista left the store and drove smartly after him. It never took Miss Calista long to make up her mind about anything, and she had weighed and passed judgement on Ches Maybin's case while Mr. Fell was doing up her matches.
Miss Calista, when she had shut Chester Maybin out into the chill gloom of the November dusk, dismissed him from her thoughts. There were other things of more moment to her just then than old Sam Maybin's hopeful son.
The lad glanced up furtively as she checked her fat grey pony beside him. "Good evening, Chester," she said with brisk kindness. "I can give you a lift, if you are going my way. Jump in, quick Dapple is a little restless." A wave of crimson, duskily perceptible under his sunburned skin, surged over Ches Maybin's face. It almost seemed as if he were going to blurt out a blunt refusal.
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