"Down below in the hollow, miss,—jist behind the hawthorn-bush. Go home some other way, Miss Mona: they're bint on blood.",
"Do you?" says her companion, staring at her, and drawing his breath a little hard. "Then, even if he should lose to me lands, title, nay, all he possesses, I should still count him a richer man than I am.",
"Well, on the principle that fine feathers make fine birds, I suppose they do," acknowledges Geoffrey, reluctantly..
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