"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. "Go on first with the light," he said. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. Here, turnkey. Until the last moment she was afraid. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco.
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