” He replied, and put his face in between her legs. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. "I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild.
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