Jackson, gallantly. "Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. From there I plan to travel until I reach Columbia—but any lawless country will do. Then he stood up and repeated it again. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. Read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire.
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