The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. But he didn’t marry her. “Yes?” he said. To have you is all important. The sight o' your 'andsome phiz allys does me good. Consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and I will spare your son. And now for the fawney— the ring I mean.
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