"An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. CHAPTER XXIV. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. Jack fell on his knees beside her. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. “If you say so, Lucy. I hated the stuff.
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