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Markey's demure and goggling; the maids' rabbit-faces; old Pettance's carved grin the film lifting from his little burning eyes: "Ha! Mr. Bryn Summer'ay; he bought her orse, and so she's gone to 'im!" And she said: "Darling, I don't know! It's awfully sweet of you. We'll see later." Winton patted her hand. "We must stand up to 'em, you know, Gyp. You mustn't get your tail down." Gyp laughed.
Gyp thought: 'I mustn't let him get off or I shall be late for dinner, and she said: "Oh, Pettance, who bought the young brown horse?" "Mr. Bryn Summer'ay, ma'am, over at Widrington, for an 'unter, and 'ack in town, miss." "Summerhay? Ah!"
Gyp caught a side view of him, waving his hat from the carriage window. It was her acquaintance of the hunting-field the "Mr. Bryn Summer'ay," as old Pettance called him, who had bought her horse last year.
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