“Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. You are not my husband. . If you met her you would, I am certain, think her as fine as I do. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame.
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