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VI. Thomasin Argues with Her Cousin, and He Writes a Letter

           Well,itisatediousmatter,thisgettinganewhouse;butIcouldn’thavesetaboutitsooner,unlessourtenthousandpoundshadbeenahundredthousand,whenwecouldhaveaffordedtodespisecaution.”

           “No—Idon’tmindwaiting—Iwouldratherstayheretwelvemonthslongerthanrunanyriskwithbaby.ButIdon’tlikeyourvanishingsointheevenings.There’ssomethingonyourmind—Iknowthereis,Damon.Yougoaboutsogloomily,andlookattheheathasifitweresomebody’sgaolinsteadofanicewildplacetowalkin.”

           Helookedtowardsherwithpityingsurprise.“What,doyoulikeEgdonHeath?”hesaid.

           “IlikewhatIwasbornnearto;Iadmireitsgrimoldface.”

           “Pooh,mydear.Youdon’tknowwhatyoulike.”

           “IamsureIdo.There’sonlyonethingunpleasantaboutEgdon.”

           “What’sthat?”

           “Younevertakemewithyouwhenyouwalkthere.Whydoyouwandersomuchinityourselfifyousodislikeit?”

           Theinquiry,thoughasimpleone,wasplainlydisconcerting,andhesatdownbeforereplying.“Idon’tthinkyouoftenseemethere.Giveaninstance.”

           “Iwill,”sheansweredtriumphantly.“WhenyouwentoutthiseveningIthoughtthatasbabywasasleepIwouldseewhereyouweregoingtosomysteriouslywithouttellingme.SoIranoutandfollowedbehindyou.Youstoppedattheplacewheretheroadforks,lookedroundatthebonfires,andthensaid,’Damnit,I’llgo!’Andyouwentquicklyuptheleft-handroad.ThenIstoodandwatchedyou.

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