Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?” “I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so.
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