I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. "True," replied Wild. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. ‘Do not tell me he has escaped.
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