"Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. I naturally want to do it up in proper style.
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