"I am perhaps exceeding my authority in demanding so slight a sum," continued Jonathan, modestly, "and the Master of the Mint may not be disposed to let you off so lightly. It seemed that within an instant the Pestilence struck, and she begged me on her deathbed to shelter you and her grandson for the rest of your lives, as she could see that even though I was a ‘demon fiend’ and ‘minor devil’ that I loved you. “Which is Mr. Where's Jonathan?" Inquiries were instantly made after that individual, but he was nowhere to be found. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress. Then she went below. We’ll leave him here, with a couple of others.
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