” He said. ” John said. I came to beg you instead to do me the honour of becoming my wife. “What a hypocrite you are. The Procession to Tyburn. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Good-bye.
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