It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. “Go on,” he said. "As you please, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan, with affected indifference; "but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. The evenings were dulcet and soft. That is an evil place!” She cried. I keep my finger on the pulse of things.
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