‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "Vot are you?" "Practising patience," growled Abraham. She pushed him gently on the chest. Rummage, my boy, do.
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