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Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. This queer father of hers had given her everything but his arms. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. “Don’t you care for Mr.
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