Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. Just let him down easy, Lucy. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. Of you, I mean.
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