"There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. “I might go home, I don’t know.
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