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Malcolm by George MacDonald
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by George MacDonald


"Na, na; I hae nae feelin's, I'm thankfu' to say. I never kent ony
guid come o' them. They're a terrible sicht i' the gait."

"Naebody ever thoucht o' layin' 't to yer chairge, mem."

"'Deed, I aye had eneuch adu to du the thing I had to du, no to
say the thing 'at naebody wad du but mysel'. I hae had nae leisur'
for feelin's an' that," insisted Miss Horn.

But here a heavy step descending the stair just outside the
room attracted her attention, and checking the flow of her speech
perforce, with three ungainly strides she reached the landing.

"Watty Witherspail! Watty!" she called after the footsteps down
the stair.

"Yes, mem," answered a gruff voice from below.

"Watty, whan ye fess the bit boxie, jist pit a hemmer an' a puckle
nails i' your pooch to men' the hen hoose door. The tane maun be
atten't till as weel's the tither."

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