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Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith. They sold him the whisky. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. His lips were tight drawn. "I'm sorry, Mr. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl.
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