" With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. They were so good to me. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. Do you think I forget it? Didn't they help themselves to all the plate and the money —to several of my best dresses, and amongst others, to my favourite kincob gown; and I've never been able to get another like it! Marry, come up! I'd hang 'em all, if I could.
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