"I shouldn't wonder," replied Mrs. “I’m not the Devil. ” He was silent for some moments. "But I happen to be an honest man myself. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. She made an abrupt personal appeal.
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