I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. "And so we're to be summoned from our beds and snug firesides, because a kid happens to squall, eh? By the soul of my grandmother, but this is too good!" "Do you intend to claim the privileges of the Mint?" said Jonathan, calmly pursuing his interrogations amid the uproar.
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