If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. "I told you I would call to bid you farewell, Mr. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. "We shall have the whole village upon us while you're striking the jigger. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. "Did you ever hear me whine?" "No," admitted McClintock "You've no objection to my dropping in again later, after your guests go?" "No. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth.
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