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” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. " "Horror!" cried Jack. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. Lucy? Come 177 on out. Again silence. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way.
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