” He looked down at his heavy Sears work boots as Mrs. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. He was caked with dried muck. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. " "What!" exclaimed Mrs. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages.
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