On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. But I don’t want to. The expression was wholly different. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel.
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