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. She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile.
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