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XV. A Morning Meeting—The Letter Again

           "Theshepherdliftedthesixteenlargelegsandfoursmallbodieshehadhimselfbrought,andvanishedwiththeminthedirectionofthelambingfieldhardbytheirframesbeingnowinasleekandhopefulstate,pleasantlycontrastingwiththeirdeath’s-doorplightofhalfanhourbefore.

           Boldwoodfollowedhimalittlewayupthefield,hesitated,andturnedback.Hefollowedhimagainwithalastresolve,annihilatingreturn.Onapproachingthenookinwhichthefoldwasconstructed,thefarmerdrewouthispocket-book,unfastenedit,andallowedittolieopenonhishand.AletterwasrevealedBathsheba’s.

           "Iwasgoingtoaskyou,Oak,"hesaid,withunrealcarelessness,"ifyouknowwhosewritingthisis?"

           Oakglancedintothebook,andrepliedinstantly,withaflushedface,"MissEverdene’s."

           Oakhadcolouredsimplyattheconsciousnessofsoundinghername.Henowfeltastrangelydistressingqualmfromanewthought.Thelettercouldofcoursebenootherthananonymous,ortheinquirywouldnothavebeennecessary.

           Boldwoodmistookhisconfusion:sensitivepersonsarealwaysreadywiththeir"IsitI?"inpreferencetoobjectivereasoning.

           "Thequestionwasperfectlyfair,"hereturnedandtherewassomethingincongruousintheseriousearnestnesswithwhichheappliedhimselftoanargumentonavalentine."Youknowitisalwaysexpectedthatprivyinquirieswillbemade:that’swherethefunlies."Iftheword"fun"hadbeen"torture,"itcouldnothavebeenutteredwithamoreconstrainedandrestlesscountenancethanwasBoldwood’sthen

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