"Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. She almost sprang to her feet. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears.
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