" "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. Give me your staff. " "Impossible!" rejoined his mother. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. "What does he say?" roared the long drover. "We're too wide awake for that. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away.
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