"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. He has had brain fever since, and, as you say, I am more like what you were then than you yourself are now. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. Wood, and you'll find that I've spoken the truth. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 11:19:25