"Do you see any likeness?" "Don't I," returned Jack, bitterly. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Folks don’t like ’em. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house.
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