She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. "Is it poison?" she asked. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was perfectly dark. There was going to be no quarter between these two.
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