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Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Their minds are turned against him. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections. “I can tell you are thinking about it. But—if you are a friend of Mr. The Times slipped from his fingers. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp.
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