The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. Oh, you cannot escape from it. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. I’m sorry Lucy. "Will you take a guinea for it?" "Double that sum might tempt me," replied the Jew; "it's a nobleman's coat, upon my shoul!" "Here's the money," replied Jack, taking the coat. I thought every one had heard about it.
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