And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. Do not mistake me. By the by, Mr.
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