“You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. "This tongue looks remarkably nice," he added, slicing off an immense wedge, "excuse me—ho! ho!" "You make yourself at home, I perceive," observed Kneebone, with a look of ineffable disgust. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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