“I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.
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