This too shall pass. " Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. Besides, it was under false pretences. He had been quite right to sit down. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. It may bring us together again. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver.
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