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the dry soil as if trying to kill it. He stopped, leaned heavily on the wooden handle, and pulled off his ragged flat cap to wipe his brow, looking toward the terrace with a weight of stare that conveyed profound, unadulterated disgust. “Lazy brutes,” Aunt Mildred muttered, gesturing lazily with her fan. “Mr. Croft pays them a shilling a day, and they continue reading …
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