I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches.
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