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Mrs. Morel thought to herself: "Yes, poor fellow, his young wife is dead; that is why he makes his love into the Holy Ghost." They were halfway down their first cup of tea when they heard the sluther of pit-boots. "Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Morel, in spite of herself. The minister looked rather scared. Morel entered. He was feeling rather savage.
In her weariness forgetting everything, she moved about at the little tasks that remained to be done, set his breakfast, rinsed his pit-bottle, put his pit-clothes on the hearth to warm, set his pit-boots beside them, put him out a clean scarf and snap-bag and two apples, raked the fire, and went to bed. He was already dead asleep.
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