“Mr. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. "The poor young man!" she said. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. McClintock will have some. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love.
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