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Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?” “I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. Using the shirt, she cleaned away the blood. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold.
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