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‘Tell me, my boy. ’ He quirked an eyebrow. Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. He looked distant, irritated. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. The coconut plantation covered the west side. .
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