Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. Nothing. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. But I proved it to them! Oh yeah, I told John, but I don’t think he believes me either. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. It never has had. "The night before last, Mr. I just suppose it isn’t worth the trouble.
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