. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. . “Don’t you care for Mr. 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. Mr. ” Lucy felt herself grow feverish inside. "I guessed what was coming.
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