"She has flown up stairs," replied the widow. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory. ‘Seems to me, missie, as you’re as dangerous a female as I’m like to see.
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