On the eleventh of November, a brilliant day, with a high west wind and glistening clouds, after previous heavy rains, Sibbald crossed twice from Whaupriggs over to the Braid water. First in the morning with his wife, in advance of a load of furniture: secondly, in the afternoon, with a dejected, shattered old man, who looked furtively about him all the way and never spoke one word.
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