I made the pies. “My Mom was a good lady. “Are you serious?” “You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr. . I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day.
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