“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Spurlock mused over the previous night. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. But I see now. ‘Pitiful. She wanted to kiss his feet. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench.
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