Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. "Back!" cried Jack fiercely: "lay a finger on her, and I will fell you to the ground. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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