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‘The cat’s foot, Hilary. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. He stuck to the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion.
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