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CHAPTER IV. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. The man was mad to marry me. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously.
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