The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. Wonderful! The water, dripping from you, must have looked like pearls. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. On the way home he was still thoughtful. And severely hurt that pig, which was a very good thing. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs.
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