’ Miss Froxfield intervened quickly as her betrothed showed signs of erupting again. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity.
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