The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. "No, I tell you," rejoined Jonathan, shouldering his way out of the crowd. Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. ” He rolled his eyes, trying 190 to conceal pride. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. You will survive, mark my words.
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