"My poor, dear girl, I thought you were dead." And I made her put on my gloves.
"O no. But don't drive so fast, or we shall tip over again." So, nothing loath, I let the mare go her own gait. It took us a good half-hour to get home.
At first I would not let her talk; but she seemed so well, and so assured me that she felt strong, that at last I let her go her own gait too.
And what did she say, and what did I say?
O reader, what would you give to know?
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M. B.