See paragraph 1. Besides—there is Sir John. Figg?" asked Gay. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. He had hurt her. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. F. Smith will tell you I'm misinformed, also, on that point. " "You might have added 'then'," said Miss Spurlock, drily.
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