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"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd

Nor hell a fury like a wo brown eyes, sitting on the Bartlett's

porch working that butter as if you've been used to handling butter all

your life? No city girl, I'm sure" Anna had been at the Squire's for

a hen the above query was put to her

The voice was high and rasping The whole sentence was delivered

without breath or pause, as if it was one long word The speaker ht

have been the old

was lacking--corkscrew curls, prunella boots, caote type, trimmed with many small ruffles

and punctuated, irrelevantly, with immovable buttons

"I am Anna Moore"

"Know as much now as I ever did," snapped the interlocutor

"I have come to work for Mrs Bartlett, to help her about the house"

"Land sakes Bartlett's keeping help! How stylish they're getting"

"Yes, Marthy, we are progressing," said Kate, co out of the house