"I beg pardon," he said. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Quick, now. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill.
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