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“Get out of the car. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. “You’re mad, Sebastianus. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. " "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow.
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