'I wonder if there are many folk like her down South. She's like

a breath of country air, somehow. She freshens me up above a bit.

Who'd ha' thought that face--as bright and as strong as the angel

I dream of--could have known the sorrow she speaks on? I wonder

how she'll sin. All on us must sin. I think a deal on her, for

sure. But father does the like, I see. And Mary even. It's not

often hoo's stirred up to notice much.'




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