Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. I don’t care. ’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it. \" \"All right. ‘Oh, peste.
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