And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. She lied. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. He was standing at the moment close to the hatch, with his ear at the keyhole, and received a severe blow in the face. Mr.
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