She loved him. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry.
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