I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. “Do you understand what I am talking about? It’s no good if you don’t. “No, I am alone,” she answered. They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed.
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