"Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. He not only did this, but supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent ale. “Well, I do. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know.
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