Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks.
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