"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. He fended these things off from him with the rump of his fourth piece of cake. I have it about me. A woman cannot change her soul.
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