"Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. ‘Me, I have a name. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him.
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