"Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. "If so, it won't pay. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. He flung Ruth aside, careless whether she fell or not. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. "Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this.
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