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"Mercy!" screamed Mrs. Be on your guard. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. " "Be handy, then," rejoined Terence, "or, I'll lose my share of the smart money. He was all alone, too. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire.
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