Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. Don't strip me quite. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. Mr. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. McClintock will have some.
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