Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. "Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. She had no idea what she should do. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. ‘You’re speaking the truth.
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