“By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. Twelve years ago! It is an awful retrospect. He opened the drawer of the writing table. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 21:43:27