The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Let her see if she could manage this one, perhaps turn all to suit herself? ‘What do you think to do with me now?’ The captain lowered the pistol. She refused to eat. And she’s pluck to the backbone.
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