” Her father’s irony deepened. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. He knew it was unnerving, he did it to everyone, even his own kin. "You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. She could tell that he was leering at her. You will never be happy with this hanging over you. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us.
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