She wished she had not stood up. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. Play fair with her. I have—run away. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. It is not at all comme il faut. CHAPTER XXIII.
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