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And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. ‘I’ll make it, miss. Jonathan, however, still lingered. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair. "I've been always true to you. .
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