"I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at the usual hour to-morrow, or,—a little earlier!",
"You did not mean it, Mona, did you? You are content here with me?—you have no regret?",
"Never mind Larry," says the farmer, impatiently. "This is the seventh time he has died this year. But think of Misther Rodney here. Can't ye do something for him?".
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