"You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position.
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