She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. “I don’t see that his being a good sort matters. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.
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