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July 24, 2014
There was once an old woman living at Laxey, and her name was Nance Corlett. Clean and neat her house was, with the thatch all trim and trig against the winter storms, the tramman tree by the door, to keep of witches, and the little red cocks and hens wandering in and out of the open door. There wasn’t a word going a-speaking against old Nance, in all the Island.
Grow, patience! And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root with the increasing vine!
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