" "Cannot?" echoed Jack, a slight smile crossing his features. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Jack had thus been six hours in accomplishing his arduous task. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. No doubt there’s some little mistake.
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