It was a letter. "And his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded Sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been otherwise damaged in the fray—ough! ough!" "Hurrah!" shouted the mob. " "Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin. "Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly. “I love you, Ann Veronica.
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