The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. . “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. ’ She stopped, her lips tightening.
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