"You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. “Yes,” she said at last, “it is firm and affectionate. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. John picked it up and put it in her hands. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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