CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. ‘Never fear, my love. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. “You’re great, Lucy! I had no idea you were so great!” John exclaimed. "If you doubt my word, woman," replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, "ask Mr. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. You're a friend of the young man?" "If you mean did I know him before he became ill, no. "Once in this chair, yer hon'r, and I'll warrant he'll not get out so aisily as Jack Sheppard did from the New Pris'n. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat.
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