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🎮 Joan was about to offer comment, but was struck dumb with astonishment on hearing McKean’s voice: it seemed he could talk. He was telling of an old Scotch peasant farmer. A mean, cantankerous old cuss whose curious pride it was that he had never given anything away. Not a crust, nor a sixpence, nor a rag; and never would. Many had been the attempts to make him break his boast: some for the joke of the thing and some for the need; but none had ever succeeded. It was his one claim to distinction and he guarded it. Miss Ensor, having finished her supper, sat smoking.!
🏆 “Oh, it’s possible,” he answered on rejoining her. “What was his name?” Mr. Simson was visibly shocked. Evidently he was less familiar with the opinions of The Rationalist than he had thought.!
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