We will beg our bread and our shelter, and our passage on a boat. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly. "You want me, then?" she said.
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