An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home presently from their work.,
"Yes, I dare say," says Lady Rodney, who is now wondering when this high-flown visitor will take her departure.,
It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow luxurious calm.".
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