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Excerpt from The Old Town Pump Betty whirled away from the Window, to stare into a man's face. It certainly presented nothing very pleasant as a View. He was young enough, as to years, to be smart and hard-working, yet somehow his hands were White, with long fingers that looked unaccustomed to toil. His face was set and determined, and with his pale cheeks and black moustache and the piero ing eyes under the old felt hat he had crammed over his ears, he was a truly dreadful thing to look at. Betty's heart gave a bound. Father isn't home, she said; he's gone down to the church. Did you want to see him?