Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me.
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