She fled. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. " "Do you call ten guineas easy terms?" cried Wood, with a look of dismay.
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