“There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. " "Allow me to offer you a glass of usquebaugh, my dear," said Kneebone, turning from him, and regarding Edgeworth Bess with a stare so impertinent, that even that not over-delicate young lady summoned up a blush. What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards.
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