The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. He halted,—looked fearfully around,—stopped again, and exclaimed aloud, "I don't like the job; and yet it must be done, or Mr. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still.
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