You must forgive the poet’s license I take. That’s why it’s so important I should take my own line now. ” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. " "Zounds!" exclaimed Wood; "it's my old master-key. They did not spend most days together.
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