Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. She had no place she loved. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. That's my maxim; and it's the maxim of every honest man. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack.
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