‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. I was his wife. " Upon which, Mr. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ” Sir John coughed. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. I suspect he has a bit of vanity. . .
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