"It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't signify, not in the least. But—but," the blood mounting to her brow, "if ever you speak of it again,—if ever you even mention the word 'heather,'—I shall hate you!",
"Down below in the hollow, miss,—jist behind the hawthorn-bush. Go home some other way, Miss Mona: they're bint on blood.",
After she had called him the fourth time, Kŭt-o-yĭs´ went to her..
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