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He looked at her with a timid questioning expression
and seemed quite crestfallen, as he shook his head, when
Marie replied that it was quite right; that was what the
pastor said they should all do.
No, ’t wasn’t in that way either, ’t was kind of what you
might call sweethearting. But of course there wasn’t any
cause for it—he went on in an angry tone as if to pick
a quarrel—he s’posed such a fine lady would be afraid to
come near a poor common peasant like him, though to be
sure peasants were kind of half way like people too, and
didn’t have either water or sour gruel for blood any more
than gentlefolks. He knew the gentry thought they were of
a kind by themselves, but really they were made about the
same way as others, and sure he knew they ate and drank
and slept and all that sort of thing just like the lowest,
commonest peasant lout. And so he didn’t think it would hurt
her ladyship if he kissed her mouth any more than if a
gentleman had kissed her. Well, there was no use her looking
at him like that, even if he was kind of free in his talk, for he
didn’t care what he said any more, and she was welcome
to make trouble for him if she liked, for when he left her,
he was going straight to drown himself in the miller’s pond
or else put a rope around his neck.
He mustn’t do that; for she never meant to say a word
against him to any living creature.
So she didn’t? Well, anybody could believe that who was
simple enough, but no matter for that. She ’d made trouble
enough for him, and ’t was nobody’s fault but hers that he
was going to kill himself, for he loved her beyond anything.
He had seated himself on a bench, and sat gazing at her
with a mournful look in his good, faithful eyes, while his
lips trembled as if he were struggling with tears.
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