He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. The villagers were thronging to church. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. And severely hurt that pig, which was a very good thing. But when it came to broaching them, it proved to be much more difficult than she had supposed. ‘I am not a fool. 2.
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