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Having received no intelligence lately from her home, she asked the turnpike-keeper for news.
"Oh--nothing, miss," he answered. "Marlott is Marlott still. Folks have died and that."
(*Chapter XXXVIII)
"Did you say the stars were worlds, Tess?"
"Yes."
"All like ours?"
"I don't know; but I think so. They sometimes seem to be like the apples on our stubbard-tree. Most of them splendid and sound--a few blighted."
"Which do we live on--a splendid one or a blighted one?"
"A blighted one."
(Chapter IV)