” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever.
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