"Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl.
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