The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Alone; not even the dog to warn her, and Hoddy deep in the island somewhere. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around.
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