How came you by the hurt, eh?" "How did I come by it?—that's a nate question. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. Easy enough. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it.
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