‘Tell me, my boy. “I do not blame him. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. "What for?" demanded Wood. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared.
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