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Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘You have every right to be angry with me. "Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Perhaps it was loneliness. I hope we may never find her again. Now he courted with “servants” which he often killed afterward.
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