And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. ‘I am sure you will. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face.
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