"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. Wood represents him?" "He's not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan," replied the carpenter, reluctantly, "But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. ” She turned away. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets.
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