207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. That would be him. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. "They say her son's taken at last, and is to be hanged. The danger or difficulty of an exploit never appalled him.
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