"I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. " Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. “Hello, John. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest.
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