‘You ain’t got nothing on me. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand.
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