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She wes a fine wumman Mistress Stirton a weel-livin' wumman; this 'ill be a blend, a'm thinkin'." "She slippit aff sudden in the end; a'm judgin' it's frae the Muirtown grocer; but a body canna discreeminate on a day like this." Before the glasses are empty all idea of drinking is dissipated, and one has a vague impression that he is at church.
Probationers who preached in the vacancy had heard rumours, and tried to identify their judge, with the disconcerting result that they addressed their floweriest passages to Mistress Stirton, who was the stupidest woman in the Free Kirk, and had once stuck in the "chief end of man."
"It wesna that he sat sae lang as a 've heard o' him daein' in the heich Glen, but it wes the times he cam'," Mrs. Stirton used to expatiate, "maybe twice a week for a month. He hed a wy o' comin' through Tochty Wood the shade helpit him tae study, he said an' jumpin' the dyke. Sall, gin he dinna mak a roadie for himsel' through the field that year.
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