"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. In their happiest times, he was the most faithful and devoted of husbands. "No, Rollo; not this afternoon.
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