‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. Mr. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. ‘I wish you joy of the wench.
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