Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. His eyes were closed. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. “A man can smoke, a man can swear; A man scores always, everywhere. ‘Something in that, missie.
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