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"A hundred and eighty pounds'll not carry you far," Uncle William exclaimed. "It'll take me a good piece of the way, and if I can't earn enough to take me the rest of it, sure, what good am I?" Uncle William shrugged his shoulders. "You must do as you please, I suppose, but I'll miss you sore when you do go. It'll be poor pleasure for me to live on here, with you gone and your Uncle Matthew dead!"
Yet still she seemed uneasy, and I hastened to say what not even then knowing her quite as well as I did later I thought would comfort her in any fears she had. "It's a very easy job, Maisie," I said; "and the ten pounds'll go a long way in buying that furniture we're always talking about." She started worse than before when I said that and gripped the hand that I had round her waist.
Her respect for Joan began to increase when she realized that the money was hers. Probably there was even more where that came from. "Anyway," she reflected, "it ban't no use cryin' ower spilt milk. What's done's done. An' a thousand pounds'll go long ways to softenin' the road. She might travel up-long to Truro to my cousin an' bide quiet theer till arter, an' no harm done, poor lass.
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