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. "To-night you shall be my wedded wife. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet.
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