"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. "I am so excessively fond of snuff. You think everything is harmless and simple, and so forth. She paused for a moment. She would ignore him. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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