Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. “You’re splendid. " "I'll excuse it nevertheless," returned the little damsel, affectionately extending her hand to him. He had heard nothing.
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