‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. No, none at all. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. .
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