“It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. On all hands Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted. After a while he spoke again. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess.
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