A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ‘Well, sir, if I’ve to choose betwixt him and you, I’ll take you, no question. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. " "Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him.
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