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And I'm quaiet yet. And as sune 's it's dark, I s' gang oot and see whether the bonny man be onywhaur aboot. There's naething atween him and me noo; for, the moment I begin to think, it's him 'at comes to be thoucht aboot, and no Phemy ony mair! 'Steenie, said Kirsty, 'it was the bonny man sent Phemy til ye to gie ye something to du for him, luikin efter ane o' his silly lambs.
Noo, sir, gin ye ony business onywhaur else, ye 'd aye better be ridin' tae it, for ye are no wanted here, ye ken." "Why, Mrs. McLeod," I broke in politely. "You hardly know anything about me." "No, an' I dinna wish it. You are frae Las Palomas, an' that's aye enough for me. I ken auld Lance Lovelace, an' those that bide wi' him.
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