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Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. 192 Her skirt had ridden almost to her hips. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. I know he is dead. “Mid-thirties. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. And do you, Jack, attend to your work, and mind you don't get into further mischief.
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