"I guessed what was coming. 1. “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg.
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