I'm not hungry. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly.
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