She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. "Here, take this and get the letter and open and read it.
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