“I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. Little by little, she stopped hating him. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. "Ay, good luck to him! so we have," rejoined Terence; "but we've no objection to take out the dochter's bill in drink.
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