If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. You want industry—you want steadiness. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. His expression altered. “Thank you. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. “Will you come in, Sir John.
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