Then in a moment seen him mobbed and torn
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picture it so clear: the dusty sunshine On bracken, and the men with spades, that wipeRed faces : one tilts up a mug of ale. And, having stooped to clean my gory hands, I whistle the jostling beauties out 0’ the wood. I’m but a daft old fool! I often wish The Squire were back again—ah, he was a man!They don’t breed men like him these days; he’d comeFor sure, and sit and talk and suck his briar
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