"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. Jack looked towards the door. " "Not before I have conducted your child thither," retorted Jonathan, with a withering look. He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold.
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