Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. "Why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" Ben inquired. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone.
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